


Family and Dissociation from Awkward Situations

by Haunted_Frost



Series: Bat Family Awkward Situations [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman Beyond, DCU, Gotham (TV), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Babysitting, Bat Family, Catholic Character, Family Feels, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Jason-Centric, My First Work in This Fandom, News Media, Not Beta Read, POV Multiple, Panic Attacks, Reconciliation, Team as Family, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 05:28:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13357488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haunted_Frost/pseuds/Haunted_Frost
Summary: Jason's returned to Gotham to find things oddly different, but mostly the same.  As he reacquaints himself with the Bats, and as they begin a new case or two, it might just turn out that the Red Hood belonged there all along.  Reunions are uncomfortable, but sometimes they just might be worth it.





	1. Reintroductions

**Author's Note:**

> Here's an adventure: We're all going in blind. 
> 
> I mean, I don't really know what this is? I have no outline, no semblance of future plot, nada. And I've never had a beta in my life, so. This is . . . I think mostly me feeling out these characters as I go with some idea of how I want them. Also so far I think it will be Jason-centric, but we'll see. The title sucks, yes, and there will be a lot of editing going on. I have absolutely no idea where this is headed, but I wanted to share it. Despite my scatterbrained efforts, it might turn into something coherent. 
> 
> My experience with Batman is primarily through the animated cartoons, a bit of the cinematic stuff, and a recent binge of the Gotham TV show - as most of us do during comic fanfiction writing, I'm making up my own universe with a conglomeration of ideas from different timelines and events. That said, these are the relative ages and the many identities of the whole Batfam in this universe, and each one may or may not become important, but I wanted to cover all my bases. These are all the ones I will definitely mention at some point or another. 
> 
> Also, still working out what this rating/what the warnings on this will be; I'm usually pretty tame but I'll leave it up in the air for now until I'm confident in how this will turn out
> 
> Alfred Pennyworth (58)  
> Bruce Wayne (Batman) 35  
> Barbara Gordon (Batgirl, Oracle) 26  
> Julia Pennyworth (Penny-Two) 26  
> Kate Kane (Batwoman) 25  
> Dick Grayson (Robin, Nightwing, Batman) 24  
> Jason Todd (Robin, Red Hood) 19  
> Cassandra Cain (Batgirl, Black Bat) 19  
> Harper Row (Bluebird) 18  
> Tim Drake (Robin, Red Robin) 17  
> Stephanie Brown (Spoiler, Robin, Batgirl) 17  
> Duke Thomas (Signal) 16  
> Damian Wayne (IRobin) 10  
> Terry McGinnis (Batman) -5
> 
> Yes, I included Terry here for now; I can't decide whether he'll pop in or not yet. I live for time travel and secret identity fics, but I can't decide whether I need him in here or not yet. I also can't decide whether there will be any actual pairings; at the very least past relationships might get mentioned. I honestly don't know who to ship yet with how I'm writing them, so for at least the first few chapters I'll leave it gen.

* * *

**Jason**

Cobblepot was running an organized gig again.  This time, he was carefully trafficking drugs through territory that certainly wasn’t his.  Jason had fucking _made sure_ the idiot wasn’t allowed there, but no, he didn’t follow simple instructions. 

“You know,” he said, walking right into the office of the Crime Alley slum building the guy had holed up in, “I’m not exactly happy you decided to encroach on my territory, Ozzy.”  The man narrowed his eyes at the nickname. 

“Hood.  I certainly didn’t expect to see you back.”

“What?  It’s not like the Outlaws don’t have places to get back to now and then.  Speaking of—you’re on my turf.  Or don’t you remember the last time people decided I was too soft to keep my place up?”

“Believe me, I remember the duffle bag,” chuckled the Penguin.  “But you were too young to remember Professor Pyg.  Or what I did to my stepmother.  Really, kid, you are not the most gruesome guy on the block.”

“I don’t need to be gruesome,” Jason shrugged, “Before I was the Hood, I was pretty good friends with the Commissioner.  He told me about your little debacles one night—licenses for crime, really?” he made a face, “It’s like giving people permanent excuses.  You can’t control them, not like that.”

“You can’t control them without, either,” Penguin pointed out.  “You can’t control them with death threats either, no matter how willing you are to pull through on them.”  Jason just rolled his eyes. 

“Doesn’t matter.  I want you out of here.  You’ll get out.  Understand?”

“Just trying to fill the hole you left behind, Red,” he said, beckoning to his guards.  “I’ll go back to the Diamond District.  By the way,” he offered, grin crawling up his lips, “Bats is apparently okay with his kids maiming criminals, not just knocking them out, now.  No permanent damage allowed, but the littlest Bat, Robin now, will fuck you up.  Red Robin’s pretty sadistic since he’s let loose a bit.  Bats still sticks to fisticuffs, but Robin and Black Bat are scaring the newbies.  So watch out.”

“That’s a joke,” Jason frowned, “The bat would never let them stoop to our level.”

“Oh, there’s still the ‘no kill’ rule.  I think he’s found that if the police can kill in defense, then there’s no reason the Bats can’t allow a bit of blood.  Just warning you—the kid and the girls have a propensity for knives.”

And with that, the Penguin left. 

“Fuck.”

Why would Bruce even—it made no sense.  What made him change his mind?  _But he’s not really changing his mind, is he?  They’re still not allowed to kill._

* * *

As it turns out, it was a family talk that had changed the perspective. 

“The fact of the matter is that his first rule _for himself_ is not to kill,” said the blonde girl as she reached for the salt.  The diner was pretty barren, besides them, the servers, and an older couple on the opposite end. 

“And he drills it into every Robin, every Bat,” Jason replied.  Stephanie nodded. 

“Thing is, quite a few of us have been trained to kill.  Hell, Alfred knows his way around a gun.  And there are worse things than death, they always say.”

“Yeah, well, they haven’t died,” Jason muttered. 

“But you were tortured and brainwashed and exploded and stuff—” she pointed her straw at him before putting it in her milkshake. 

“Which was in the package deal with my death, as far as I’m concerned.  Now, how the hell did Bats change his mind on approved weapons?”

She stirred her milkshake a bit before answering. 

“It was a lot of things.  Dick being a cop—he has a gun on patrol now.  Rubber bullets when he’s Nightwing, though.  He started carrying it out of the blue.  And the next time, Cass showed up with ninja stars in her belt—which, really, aren’t any different than the sharp Batarangs, just not themed.  Damian and I both carry blades—I do throwing knives; he does his sword.”

“And Drake?”

“He’s interesting,” Steph grinned, “He makes a good sniper.  Rubber bullets for him, too.”

“How the hell did Bats react?”

“Bruce was in Hong Kong when we ordered everything,” she admitted.  “Admittedly after an argument about you.  We all agreed to train for two weeks with the new toys and to incorporate them in patrols.  B was _pissed_ , but he was outvoted, so he deals.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t kick you all out.”

“Please—we’d already talked with the Commissioner about it and everything.  In a world where there’s a Scarecrow and a Penguin and a Riddler, we should have guns and knives in our arsenal.”

“Hey, I _am_ on your side in that regard.”

“But he wasn’t.  He felt betrayed as hell—but we did convince him we’re not killing.”

“Ah.  That’s the line, always,” Jason grumbled. 

“You crossed it,” she shrugged, “But you crossed back a year ago.  I’ve noticed, Jason.”

“I’m aware.  I have a few exceptions to the rule.  Certain people—if they can be called that—deserve to die, and I’ve already become a murderer so I’m happy to sully my non-virtue because of it.”

Stephanie, though annoying in conjunction with the other bats, was pretty cool on her own. 

“Can’t blame you,” she shrugged, “But then, do you really want the hassle?  You’ve proved that people can come back.  What’s the point, especially with the villains we’ve got?  We’d just get copycats.  Hell, the Joker is a copycat.” Jason frowned.  He hadn’t known that.

“What?”

“Ask Gordon about it sometime.  There’s no putting down the Joker, much as we’d like it,” she said grimly, “I like to think at least—at least this version we sort of know how to deal with.”

The waitress came with their burgers and fries a few moments later. 

* * *

He doesn’t want Bruce to know he’s in town.  He doesn’t want Dick to know he’s in town, either.  He could care less about Drake or the demon brat.  Babs knew everything, so he wouldn’t be surprised if she already knew. 

But he missed Alfred, so he reluctantly dialed on the burner phone, praying that the butler was the only one awake.  The dial tone rang twice. 

“Wayne Manor,” a voice that made him feel home despite everything answered. 

“Alfred, hey,” he sighed, “It’s Jason.”

“Master Jason,” he said quietly.  A lot of what Alfred said was quiet—but his tone, this time, was definitely surprise.  “What do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was wondering if there was any chance I could stop by without Dickie or Bruce knowing.  I wanted to see you if possible.”

“Master Dick will be in Bludhaven all night.  Masters Timothy and Damian will be asleep.  Master Bruce is patrolling alone and won’t be back until at least four.”

It was one.

“I’ll be there in a few.  Just want to see you, y’know?  Don’t tell them.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” 

* * *

“It’s good to see you,” Jason said.  Alfred nodded, a soft, sincere smile which for him was an ecstatic grin.  A hand on his shoulder was a bear hug.  And it felt more sincere than any of Dick’s little speeches—not that Dick was fake about it by any means, but that if felt . . . more.  Dick has said his piece more than once. 

And Alfred, of all people, he trusted with the things that mattered. 

“Tell me what’s new—did Replacement actually fall asleep or did he pass out?”

“Dick has helped implement a schedule for him.  He still passes out every few nights, but he’s interrupted with real sleep more often and doesn’t know what to do with it when he wakes up and doesn’t need coffee.  I’ve been giving him decaf on these occasions, and despite his warnings otherwise, he hasn’t caught on.”

“Heh,” Jason chuckled and sipped the tea he’d been given. 

“How are you faring?”

So Jason launched into a story about him, Roy, and Kori.  He talked and listened for two hours—but he kept an eye on the clock. 

“I’m going to head out.  Thanks, Alfred, really.”

“I have some food for your apartment to heat up after patrols.  I recall that while you like to cook, you can’t be bothered when you’re tired.”

And Jason hugged him before leaving, large bag of Tupperware dishes in tow. 

* * *

It was patrol time.  Fuck, he could never sleep in Gotham on a regular patrol night. 

_Well, you do have one option.  Patrol.  Yes, and run into all of the bats, perfect plan, well executed._

Even his inner voice was dripping with sarcasm.  But he was going out, he already knew—to see Gordon and hopefully ingratiate himself a bit.  Much as he didn’t regret killing the sonsofbitches he did, the police force couldn’t be too happy. 

“Hood,” the Commissioner said, frowning, “I heard from Batgirl that you’re staying.”

“I’m probably staying,” he allowed, “and I’d like not to be hunted down by the GCPD the entire time.  I don’t know if community service will cover my jail time, but I’m willing to strike plenty of deals to make up for what I’ve done.”

Gordon frowned. 

“I can probably arrange something . . . but, well, you didn’t seem very remorseful at the time.”

“I’m still not.  But I understand that my moral code isn’t for everyone.  Certainly not Batman,” he sniffed, “He never agreed with me on the killing question.”

“Most people don’t.”  Jason frowned, looking carefully at the officer’s face.  It was grim, apologetic. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure.  Ask almost anyone from Crime Alley, and they’ll probably tell you different.” 

“Did you grow up in Crime Alley?” Ah, there it was.  He could play the sympathy card here, or be honest about it—well, he’d always sort of liked the Commissioner, despite the failure of the police to do much outside of the central city. 

“Sure did.  Until I stole two tires from the Batmobile.  Know where that got me?” he paused.  “I was the second Robin.”  Fuck, he didn’t mean to give that much away.  Still, it got Gordon stunned. 

“You died—you were a _kid_ , hell, you’re probably not even twenty,” he said. 

“Almost,” he admitted, “19.  18 if you don’t count the year I was dead.”

“Fucking hell,” the man cursed, scrubbing a hand down his face in resignation, “You didn’t deserve any of what you got, huh?  You were mouthy, you were skirting violence, you were rebellious—but you were a good kid that didn’t deserve what that bastard did.”  Jason prudently didn’t point out the past tense involved.

“And here I am.”

“And here you are.  How’s coming back treating you, besides the crime boss murder spree?” he said wryly, a small smile on his face. 

“Gave up on that when I joined the Outlaws.  And lethal force isn’t my go-to anymore.  I can’t promise anything about maiming someone, but killing?” he shook his head, looking off at the city.  “I really don’t get to make that call, do I?  Apparently, most people are against it, like you said.  It’s proven pretty inconvenient to be contrary, so I’ll roll with the rules.  I have exceptions.  I’ll blow their fucking heads off with extreme prejudice.  No qualms whatsoever.”

Gordon rolled his eyes. 

“How many exceptions?”

“One, at this point.  I reserve the right to change it if more sadistic monsters come out of the woodworks, but as long as the Joker is in Arkham, you don’t have to worry about it.  I’d drop the rest of the list for the chance to kill him.”  At that, Gordon's lip curled, and his brow furrowed.  

“I’d kill him myself if it would do any good.”  _Um.  What_. 

“Admitting to conspiring for murder, Commish?”

“If our state went for the death penalty, he’d be the first of those monsters to die.  Again, not that it would do any good.  I never thought I’d dredge up the files, but . . . stuff from before the Bat might actually be relevant here.  I kept it all mostly on lockdown in case anyone got inspired by it, but I think I can trust _you_ not to become another crazed maniac like him.  I’ll email you the reports and videos about Jerome Valeska,” he decided. 

“Who?”

“You might call him the first Joker.”

* * *

 

**Barbara**

She studied his patrol with a forced detachment.  She had to be reasonable—if her father, of all people, was giving this man a chance, then by all means she was going to.  (she was also going to have a talk with every single member of this family about emotional constipation, but she was no miracle worker, so the chance with Jason was more likely to be successful). 

She kept the family’s routes predictable enough for him to stay clear, but not enough for those who didn’t know their systems.  It depended mainly on who was in town and who was on an Alfred-imposed bedrest (Damian and Duke, thank heavens, had a bit of sense and self-awareness when it came to how functional their bodies were.  Damian was unfortunately stubborn about using the minimum healing times.)

Tonight, Bruce, Kate, Stephanie, and Tim were out.  Batwoman and Batgirl were a weird pair in this case—Kate was cynical, Steph bubbly.  It was truly like Bruce and Dick, back in the day, if Dick were a tad clumsier and Bruce could stand to smile more.  They were taking the business districts, watching for heists and muggings.  Bruce and Tim were taking the shadier parts of town and the residential areas. 

She made sure both skirted Crime Alley just enough for Jason to slip through. 

Jason was staying in an apartment two blocks down from her own, just where Crime Alley got intense.  Maybe—well—

He did go to the diner with Steph.  She sighed, signed out once everyone was home, and made her way towards his apartment. 

No one stopped her—she was, after all, still tuned into the police scanners and all manner of security. She knew where everything was going down.  She rolled her way into the building, got in the creepy elevator, and knocked sharply on the door.  Tonight she did _not_ want to deal with booby traps, so there would be no sneaking in. 

“Jason?”

“Babs,” he sighed, “Guess I can’t deny I’m here, huh?  You probably saw me on the street and everything.”

“I was nice enough to keep them out of your way,” she agreed, “But not nice enough to leave you completely alone.”

“Damn.”

She just grinned. 

“Let’s sit down and laugh at late-night infomercials a bit.  Like the old days.  I even have junk food.”  They used to sneak candy and chips of all sorts after a patrol, delirious with adrenaline and lack of sleep.  Alfred was always a little exasperated by it—he really did cook such good meals—but sometimes they just needed junk.  Blankness, to numb their minds before they went to sleep for two hours. 

Jason sighed and motioned towards the living room, where the TV was already turned on. 

* * *

 

**Jason**

Sometimes, he wondered about Babs.  If she had the inclination, she could honestly run Gotham—and way better than any of the others. 

“I take it Dad gave you the info on Jerome,” she sighed. 

“He did.  It’s weird—I always thought the villains crawled out when Batman started.”

“Evil certainly didn’t start with his generation,” she agreed.  “And it won’t end.  There’ll always be bad people.”  _People like me, you mean_ , he thought. 

“Yeah, well, evil and good—it all shifts and changes, doesn’t it?  Becomes a different definition, gets a new MO.”

“Maybe,” she glanced at him over her glasses, “But Valeska was just the beginning.  I think he died in prison when you were about eight.”

“So, someone else took his place.  Big deal—the one we have now is worse—”

“Exactly.  And how bad do you think his successor would be?”  She looked down, frowning at her feet.  “You, Tim, and I—we know what it is to be at his mercy.  We know.  Dick, the others, hell, even Bruce—they don’t have a lot of the permanent scars we carry from him.  I don’t want them to ever find out what it’s like, Jason, and I have no doubt there are people who, given the option, would take up that mantle and _destroy_ us.  I won’t give them that chance, Jay.”  Her fists tightened. 

“Wouldn’t they be crazy enough on their own, though?” he wondered. 

“You’re the one who took on the Red Hood persona.  Tell me—did you know that was his old moniker when he was just a petty thief?”

“I knew.  That was kind of the point.  He took my life, I took his.”

“Hm.  Eye for an eye.  That’s an ancient form of justice.”  She sighed. 

“Babylon was a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t have some things going for them.”

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.  What, I should take his legs?”

“I would, if anyone ever gave me the shot,” he growled, “What he did to you—”

“Stop.”  Barbara sighed.  “If you knew a fraction of the grief we had over you dying, you wouldn’t be so up in arms about facing the Joker again.  We don’t want you to die, Jason.”

“No, just in Arkham where I won’t bother anyone or shoot up a drug ring.”

“That was a bad call,” she said firmly, “I would have fought that tooth and nail, Jason.  Those dumbasses—actually, no, all of you are dumbasses except for Alfred and Cass.  None of the rest of you have your shit together.”

Jason laughed. 

“Not even Dick?”

“ _Especially_ not Dick.  He acts like he’s emotionally stable, and admittedly he’s better than he used to be, but he will put absolutely everyone before himself,” she grumbled, “I love him like a brother, Jay, but he is _infuriating_.  But he knows better than to fake it to me or Alfred, and he’s learning to lean on us a bit more,” she smiled.  “Idiot.”

“Wow, Golden Boy ain’t so golden?”  She snorted. 

“He was never golden.  Someday you’ll know what I mean.”  Right—the First Robin, the sweet one, the bleeding heart.  The mother hen. 

Except when it came to Jason—Dick resented Jason from the get-go.  And why shouldn’t he?  He was Dick’s— _ha, Tim, me first_ —replacement.  A new Robin when Dick grew up.  A— _and this was the damn punchline_ —a Good Soldier.  Oh, Jason would dismantle that memorial if he thought it would do any good.  But he wasn’t going to. 

That was just how it had to be. 


	2. One Red, Two Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's adventures in babysitting, reaching out to Jason, and texting at 3:30 AM lead to the conclusion that the rest of the batfam sucks.

* * *

**Tim**

It was the _dumbest_ mission ever.  And he was the _worst_ person to be put on this assignment.  He didn’t do people very well, much less kids.  And Kon wasn’t exactly built for it either. 

But here they were, in Wayne Manor, babysitting Damian and Jon. 

“I swear, demon brat, if you don’t eat food like a normal person—”

“Tch.  Do as I say, not as I do, Drake?  That’s hardly the way to go about things.  I fail to see the point in eating together at the dinner table anyway.”  Apparently, the children were boycotting dinner for no reason that Tim could discern.  Bruce was out on a mission, along with most of the Justice League.  Dick, Babs, and Cass were shopping, and Steph was out with friends from school.  Duke, Harper, and Kate were patrolling.  Alfred was visiting his niece.  Since Clark was off with the League and Bruce, that left them to deal with the brats. 

“Help me,” Tim pleaded with Kon, who was struggling enough on his own with Jon, chasing the brat around the foyer. 

“I’m a little—stop flying, kid, you know I can’t in here _—_ busy!”  Tim sighed and took three deep breaths. 

 _One_. 

Damian was crouching on the counter like a little gargoyle, eyes flicking back and forth between the other people present and the door, waiting to make his escape.  _Not a chance, demon brat._

_Two._

Kon, fed up with Jon’s antics, leapt into the air to catch him, but their combined directions led them straight to the dining room table, which they started skidding across. 

 _Three_. 

In the resulting crash, nothing was broken because Kon had a decent amount of control these days and knew better than to let anything get to top speed indoors.  The wind their movement created rustled Damian’s hair while Kon scrabbled with Jon to pin him, but the kid was squirmy. 

“If you guys don’t want the cookies Alfred baked specifically for us before he left, I guess I won’t tell you where they are.  Now sit at the goddamn table so I don’t have to continue to be a responsible adult, because I guarantee it’s weirding me out ten times more than any of you guys.”  Jon snorted, but stopped struggling. 

“The food’s in the fridge, dork.”

“You want to bet?” Tim asked, one eyebrow raised, “I will not hesitate to find the kryptonite stash if it keeps you in line, pipsqueak.  I can wait you out; I can stay awake for days.  And who knows, brat—I might just show Dick the letter from your teacher about your behavior lately.”  Damian’s eyes widened in surprise—Tim had gotten into the brat’s backpack and saw the incriminating evidence stating that _Damian was intelligent, well-rounded, and well-spoken, but wasn’t very social and could benefit from some friends_.  Dick would so press for a heart-to-heart, which Tim knew that basically everyone would be allergic to.  _Especially_ Damian. 

“You fight without honor, Drake,” Damian scowled and sat at the table.  Jon laughed and joined him. 

Kon grinned and pulled the food out of the fridge. 

* * *

Once the Superbrats were in bed and Kon had taken up one of the guest rooms, Tim started on his next project—figuring out the Jack-the-Ripper-esque nasty that had popped up the week before.  There wasn’t good footage anywhere—just a person in a trench coat with a knife, and bodies of sex workers found later in alleys all over Gotham with three parts removed—their hearts, their wombs, and their left ring fingers.  It was disturbing and vile, and they were still gathering information on the victims.  He called Babs. 

“Hey, any idea about the Ripper case?”

“No new info, but I might have a new informant,” she offered, “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

“Not yet—this is really important, and people are dying.”

“You will die on the job if you don’t _sleep_.  It’s something human beings need to live.  They proved it with questionably ethical science and everything.”

“Right.  Well.  I have an informant in Crime Alley—he grew up there and is friends with a lot of the girls that fit the victims’ profile.  He’s interviewing them tonight and patrolling their areas just in case.  I’ve got it covered.”

“Patrolling?  Babs, who’d you find?”  Tim frowned.  Some John Doe watching out when they had the capability, well, it wasn’t like Babs to endanger lives, unless she found someone—

“It’s Hood, okay?  I’m trying to keep it relatively quiet.  Dad’s willing to let him vigilante-community-service his way out of a sentence so long as his kill count stays the same number.  And I won’t let him near you unless _absolutely_ necessary, okay?” She sounded fierce, but Tim sighed. 

“I don’t care if he gets close to me, Oracle.  He’s had his shot to kill me.  I don’t think he really cares about it anymore, or he would have made a statement.  Jason’s not known for subtlety.  Where’s he staying?  You must have already visited him.  Probably had a civil conversation too.  Which leads me to the question of: why are you protecting me from him?”

He could _hear_ the glare. 

“You’re a hot-button issue with him.  I think he’s talked to Steph, too.  Actually, I’m keeping him away from Bruce and the Robin brothers for now, because any interaction with Bruce would be a disaster, Dick would try too hard and ultimately push him away, Damian and he would either encourage each other’s violent streaks against each other or team up and _I don’t want to deal with that_ as long as possible, and you.” She sighed.  “Do you remember him as Robin?”

Tim snorted. 

“You apparently don’t know how deeply my obsession ran as a kid.”

“I think that the revenge spree, the crime boss, all that—it wasn’t so far gone from where Jason was headed.  It was miles away, in our heads, but I _knew_ him.  Better than Bruce did, evidently.  None of the rest of us have had to fight to survive the way he has.  Jason was homeless, he knew what starvation was and he certainly was no stranger to violence.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“You know, but you don’t understand.  Neither do I.  We’re all rich snobs in comparison.  But Jason?  Crime Alley was his life—still is.  It’s day-to-day, it’s endless, the stuff we only venture in there for to fight is normal, and what right do we have to tell him that what he believes isn’t right?  We draw the line at no killing, but does that make us any better?  There are worse things.”

“I still think Jason and I meeting will not end in chaos.  I won’t bring anything stupid up.  Just the case.  I don’t appreciate you puppeteering your way through this.  Only Bruce is allowed to be the big emotional hypocrite of this family.”  He ran a hand through his hair, yawning. 

“I don’t like it either.  I won’t stop you, but you know how I feel,” she frowned deeply and looked at the clock.  “Bedtime, mister.”

“You suck.”

* * *

After two board meetings and a rundown of what the Research Institute was up to, Tim slammed his head on his desk a couple of times.  Honestly, dealing with assholes that underestimated him, hell, underestimated Bruce, gave him such a headache.  He’d have to prove himself time and again with the middle-aged narcissists that had firmly wormed their way into the board.  At least the research into cheaper, easier forms of making solar panels was coming along.  He sighed, went to his room, changed into Red Robin, and made his way to Jason’s apartment. 

He knocked a few times on the window—it wasn’t odd to see a Bat during the day so much anymore, since crime never really stopped and there were enough of them to cover for each other—but there was no reply.  He tried again, a little louder, with a bit of shouting. 

“I was fucking _sleeping_ , Replacement. Qué cabrón!  Dejame en paz. I actually need sleep.  I patrolled last night too, dammit.”

“Wow.  Maybe I should go.  I just wanted info on the asshole murdering sex workers and since Oracle was going to ask you anyway I figured I might as well drop by.” 

“Fine,” Jason rumbled, opening the window, “Close that behind you.  Don’t want any other stray birds flying in.”

* * *

With the Red Hood gear on, he could be any age, but Jason was only a little older than him.  Tim tended to forget that while on patrol. 

Especially when they were stopping by a prostitute’s apartment. 

“Who’s knocking?” a female voice with a rasp asked. 

“Fuck, it’s little Hood, haven’t seen you in a while,” said another as she opened the door.  She had sleek, white-blonde hair. 

“Snow, good to see you.  Is that Trish?”

“The four of us are sharing an apartment now.  Seemed smarter to stick together lately, especially after Missy—”

“The bastard got Missy?” Jason growled.  Tim didn’t know what to say.  Especially with all these women in their underwear—it wasn’t like he couldn’t be professional, but they were just so casual about it.  And they were Jason’s friends, it seemed. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Tim said quietly, awkwardly. 

“Yeah,” said a shorter lady with dark eyes, “Shit, who’s this kid?”

“Red Robin, actually.  He’s here with me to get info so we might be able to catch the sicko that did this.”

“Ooh, a Robin?  Hey birdie,” Snow grinned, leaning forward.  Her cleavage was very clearly on display directly for him.  Tim coughed. 

“Hi.”  Jason snorted at his reply. 

“They’re not going to eat you, Red.  You’re fine.  Now—did Missy have any weird clients lately?  At all?  Who else were victims?”  Businesslike.  Tim would have protested the harshness, but Trish—the short one, rattled it off. 

“No one had anything weird.  The first one was Alice, and I thought it was going to be the Mad Hatter, but clearly not.  Because Hannah, Lucy, and Missy all disappeared, too.  It’s happening fast.”

“Okay, so no weird clients, no regular connections except for your jobs.  Dammit.”

“And unless we want to be homeless and starving, we’re sitting ducks,” said the third girl from the kitchen of the apartment. 

“How were they found?” asked the fourth, probably the youngest of the group—Christ, she might have been their age. 

“Set up in body bags with their hearts, wombs, and left ring fingers surgically removed,” Tim automatically responded. 

“So the killer, or an accomplice, is a doctor,” she said confidently, “And has an issue with us using sex for money and physical pleasure without romance, or maybe lost that chance themselves.”  Tim blinked.  A good deduction, especially on the spot.  He’d come to part of that conclusion already. 

“Has anyone else watched sixteen hours of crime shows?” she asked, “No?  I know Gotham’s full of crazies that murder for no reason, but there are also plenty of crazies that murder _for_ reasons.  And since everyone is a caricature in this town, present company included, it stands that this Jack the Ripper is out for us because we don’t do the monogamy-white-picket-two-point-five-kids deal.”

Even Jason seemed awed.  She was a good detective, without any training. 

“Well.  Can we sign her up to be a new Batgirl?  Ours can go back to her old handle,” Tim offered, and she blushed even as she snorted. 

“Thanks, but no thanks.  Watching _Snapped_ marathons and taking psychology courses does not a Batgirl make.  I will continue to strip for college.”

“Suit yourself,” Tim shrugged, “What’s your name?”

“Lydia.”

“Well, Lydia, I know a detective in the Bludhaven police force if you ever want a letter of recommendation to go in that direction—you certainly have the mind for it.”  Her grin was brilliant. They continued a little bit of questioning, organized their patrols to check on the girls' frequent spots, and headed out.  

* * *

Tim’s next three hours of research was done on his laptop at Jason’s apartment, looking at varying doctors that fit the description Lydia suggested. 

His search led him to three people, two of whom had strong alibis between the disappearance of the girls and the discovery of their bodies. 

The third had an alibi, but also only had that alibi through one person. 

“Tell me what you think,” he waved Jason over, showing his progress. 

“I think we should check out all three,” he said, “It might be a multiple-person job,” he suggested. 

“Plus this fourth one?  They’re vague, but—”

“Might as well.  You take McCarren and Liehr; I’ll take Alvarez and Kassel?”

“I can live with that.  Hey, Jason—did Babs come over?”

“Yeah.”

“She told me not to.  Apparently, she didn’t get that you shooting me was a one-time deal, barring extenuating circumstances.”

“She didn’t want to chance anything.  I don’t know if you’ve realized by now, but everyone in this family is a control freak,” he said. 

“Right,” because he wasn’t wrong, and it was enough of an explanation, really.  Bruce was, without question, someone that needed airtight control.  Dick was harder to place, but he was mainly just clingy.  Babs was somewhere in between the two—she needed a handle on situations, and she wasn’t entirely afraid of manipulating others for the greater good, but she preferred transparency. 

“How do you fit the bill?” he wondered, because if Jason was insisting he was the black sheep as usual, well.  This would be one category where he fit—

“Did you miss the part where I became a crime lord to keep the city in line?” he asked. 

* * *

  **Jason**

“Huh.  Actually, that makes sense, in a weird way—the ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, actually beat ‘em into submission’ kind of mentality mixed with joining ‘em?  Almost worked.”  He blinked.  _Praise from Red Robin.  That’s a new one._   But he snorted, regardless. 

“Yeah, almost.  I got that lecture plenty of times.”

“No, really—I mean, we skirt the law already to round them up.  What you did broke all of Bruce’s rules, yeah, but—it almost worked.  Just like our usual thing almost works.  So, while maybe I can’t imagine shooting you in retaliation with anything but paintballs—”

“That sounds like a brilliant disaster.  Paintball with superbrats—any Titans or Young Justice members you want to invite to that kind of party?”  Tim shuddered, but Jason was serious—a nonlethal way to handle guns and realize from an opponent’s perspective how they work.  Especially if the kids would never hold a real gun in their own professions. 

“—sure, I was jumpy at first, but I can appreciate what you were _trying_ to do.  Look—” Tim sighed.  “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I looked up to you.  I’m serious!  I still do.  You’re . . . Dick would ruin it by saying we’re all brothers in a really sitcom-y but totally genuine way, and while this family is messed up, I don’t know whether I would go so far as to disagree.”

_So Tim drank the we’re-family-no-matter-what Kool-Aid.  Huh._

“No need to sell me on this shit, Tim,” he said.  The kid gaped—probably because that was the first time he’d called him by name out loud.  “You’re my little brother, I guess, and I can’t be too mad.  I mean, you just wanted to take care of B.  And hell—you’re—you did a good job, all in all.  I’m proud of you, kid.”  He turned around to avoid the kid’s eyes while he fumbled through the fridge to find a coke. 

“Are you sure you’re Jason?” he asked, voice shaking, “Because that is the last thing I’d expect you to say.”

“We’re emotionally stunted bats, but I _did_ do my time outside.  Not everyone represses all this—Kori really helped me with that,” he admitted. 

“She had experience with Dick,” Tim said, then he paused.  Jason snorted. 

“You know, the jokes never die, do they,” Jason grinned. 

“Guess not.  All right, give me the addresses for McCarren and Liehr.  I’ll handle the interviews tomorrow night.  Here’s my number—we can strategize and stuff after I’ve had at least a pot of coffee and two hours of sleep in me.”

“Can’t fool me—I know about your new sleep schedule.  And Alfred’s probably going to sneak you decaf.”

“I can tell the difference; there’s no way.” 

Jason chuckled, rolling his eyes. 

* * *

**Tim**

Tim rolled out of bed with a devious, bleary-eyed grin.  He composed a group message, naming the chat _Birds, Bats, and Demon Brats_.  As soon as everyone was added, Jason sent five gun emojis, two angry ones, and a selfie with his middle finger being the prominent subject before even typing a word. 

_Yumm created chat: Birds, Bats, and Demon Brats at 3:35 AM_

_River Song added to chat_

_Dick added to chat_

_Riding Hood added to chat_

_Best Ginger Ever added to chat_

_Duke Weaselton added to chat_

_Sassy Cass added to chat_

_Blue Da Ba Dee added to chat_

_Demon added to chat_

_Raising Kane added to chat_

Riding Hood: fuck u

Riding Hood: fuck u so much

Riding Hood: the betrayal

Blue Da Ba Dee: Change my name, idiot

_Blue Da Ba Dee is now Harper_

Harper: Good.  I'm going to bed. 

Raising Kane: Not bad, Drake.  But I’m on patrol; later guys

Dick: Why does everyone else get cool names in the chat?

Yumm: Because the names are a joke

Yumm: And your given one is the biggest joke of all

Riding Hood: okay that one was good but did u srsly do all these names

Yumm: yes.

Demon: Would all of you please stop chattering like idiots?  I have class to attend in six hours, and I’d rather not be exhausted.

Dick: we’ll make another chat without you for during school nights and hours

Riding Hood: just put ur phone on silent

Demon: I’ll only put my phone on silent if Drake changes the settings to allow us to choose our own names.  Then you can keep this group going.

Best Ginger Ever: I think that’s probs the best idea. 

Yumm: Ugh spoilsport

Yumm: The one time I try to have fun you all call it a disaster

Best Ginger Ever: No, that was when you set up the Titans’ social media accounts.  That was a disaster.

Best Ginger Ever: I’m hacking it guys no worries

Riding Hood: ty ur an angel

_Name Settings changed to: Open_

_Chat name changed to: Birds and Bats_

_Best Ginger Ever changed their name to Babs_

_Riding Hood changed their name to JT_

_Demon changed their name to Damian_

_Duke Weaselton changed their name to Duke_

Damian: Acceptable.  I will see some of you at lunch tomorrow.  Goodbye. 

Duke: I was gonna sleep guys why

Duke: Hell I want a Signal insta that’d be dope

Dick: DON’T GIVE HIM ENCOURAGEMENT

Dick: and why is your name “Yumm”???

Yumm: Red Robin

JT: UGH IT BURNS MY EYES

Duke: dude why

Dick: I hate you

Babs: Change it

River Song: First of all, I approve of my reference, thank you

River Song: Second, don’t pun your way through this Timmy or you will mysteriously find Fairly Odd Parents paraphernalia and Draco Malfoy merchandise mysteriously taking over your bedroom just because then it will clearly belong to Timmy Drake

River Song: I have a premium deal with shipping overnight

_Yumm changed their name to Tim_

Tim: You all suck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN MY DEFENSE I actually wrote the texting bit at 3:30 AM which yes was poor decision making but I edited it after and I feel I truly channeled my inner Tim Drake by doing so.
> 
> This part feels a bit more lighthearted, despite Barbara getting super into keeping the Robins separate. She's just trying to protect them, but Tim's in the right here - he knows how not to hit sore spots by accident. Also, I think I have some semblance of plot beginning to form as I feel this out - I am stealing a villain from another fandom and am assimilating it to this universe, because creating an entirely new villain seems excessive for a criminal of the week scenario (they'll be dealt with fairly quickly and open up to the real issues). Lydia and the other girls won't be getting much more screen time, but I might pull them in rather than make any new OC's should the occasion arise.
> 
> Yes, I'm aware the Spanish is more literally, leave me in peace, but the context in the sentence made more sense that way. I'm taking second-semester Spanish in college; don't kill me for translations please
> 
> This will primarily be Jason overall, but I did want some perspective from others from time to time. As I relate to Tim a lot (see: 3:00 AM writing) I decided to explore him next. By the end (whenever that is) I'm sure we'll get a bit of everyone, if I can manage it without sounding like a fool.


	3. Robins on the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steph knocks some sense into Dick, and Tim and Jason have got around to solving the Ripper murders. That doesn't come without consequences . . .

* * *

**Stephanie**

Two weeks after their little diner excursion, Stephanie knew she had to bring up Jason to Dick.  Luckily, the date was well-timed.  

“So, what’s his favorite color?  Does he drink coffee or tea?  Does he like anime?”

“Uh,” Dick’s eyes narrowed, “Why?”

“I need to know about our brother, Dick,” she said, “I don’t know about him.  You’re the oldest; I asked you.”

“Technically—”

“You’re the oldest Robin,” she amended before he could continue.  He frowned. 

“It’s his birthday in two weeks.  I’m getting him something.” If there was anything Stephanie knew how to do, it was get the best damn gifts for them.  She just needed inspiration.

“How are you getting it to him?”

“Dropping by his apartment, duh.”

Dick’s eyes widened. 

“He’s in _Gotham?_ ”

“How do you think Tim got his number for the group chat?”  Hacking, Dick would have said, except Tim was out working on the Ripper case, and R&D swamped him the other day.  He must have been working with Jason on the case, and gotten his number in the meantime. 

“Why didn’t anyone let me know?”

“Judging by your reaction, I’d say it’s a big deal for you.  Well.  Let me tell you a thing about Jason that _you_ don’t know: he swore off killing, with the Joker as an exception.”

“That’s great, Steph, but—”

“No, I don’t think you get it.  Let me finish before you make any ‘helpful’ comments,” she said.  Dick tried, but sometimes he gave answers to questions that hadn’t been asked.  He didn’t know to listen without judging.  He didn’t know how not to advise, to pipe in, to ‘help’. Opposite problem from most of the bats, really. 

“Okay,” he said, sounding hurt.  Well, too bad.  She trudged on. 

“Jason grew up in Crime Alley.  He was a street kid.  Stole and worked and fought to survive.  I don’t care how bad some missions are; you grew up fairly well at the circus.  Jason was a kid on his own more often than not in the absolute worst part of this city,” her lip curled, “He grew up surrounded by drugs and violence and death.  I can’t say I had that, but I know what my father did.  Our ‘morals’ that we stick to?  That line that we can’t cross?  That _you’ve_ crossed?  He never had that line put in front of him until Bruce.  And the man can’t save him, and won’t take revenge for him.  Won’t protect him the only way Jason can see how.  I don’t like the no-kill rule, Dick, for similar reasons to his—I know that there are far worse things that coming to the end, all that.  Do you know why Jason didn’t want to contact you?”  Obviously not, by his confused puppy face.  Steph sighed. 

“Most of you have this idea that you don’t get to choose to end a life.  That ‘killing a person doesn’t change the number of killers’ mentality, whatever it is—you might or might not believe you’re a good person because you have those rules.  But Jason thinks it’s too late to be a good person, despite his own rules.  Ones that he’s kept, all this time, to himself.  He has lines he won’t cross.  So fitting into B’s scheme?  That is _huge_.” 

“And you?”

“If it were up to me, the line B has would be a bit more of a suggestion,” she admitted, “We all have our things.  Bruce adopts sad kids.  Damian adopts animals.  Tim tries to fix the world’s major problems at a desk with a mixture of Monsters and coffee.  I want to understand how people tick.  It’s all—”  she waved her hand, wiggled her fingers as if that would make a word appear, “—it’s all like some sort of mission.  And our lines that we cross—we all fail at some point—kind of have to do with what makes us, us.  I don’t know everything about Jason, Dick, but I know—he’s trying really hard for himself.  Don’t make it about you and your guilt over him.”  Dick looked hurt again, for a moment, but then something seemed to dawn on him, and he nodded. 

“He probably likes you better because you don’t have expectations like we do,” he mused.  She shrugged, thinking, _I wasn’t there.  Not that you were, either, dipshit, but we have a clean slate, Jason and I.  You’ve got baggage on baggage.  I’m not touching that with a ten-foot pole._

“Why do you have expectations?” _And there we go with the touching.  In fact, we went straight past touching into uncomfortable great-aunt pinching cheeks and hugs mode._

Dick blinked. 

“I mean, you were in Bludhaven, right?  You hadn’t made up with Bruce until later on.”

“I was . . . around,” Dick said, uncertain.  Bingo. 

“So really, what do you think Jason’s problem with you is?  Because, dickwad, I never asked him.  Did you?”  Dick’s frown was of epic puppy proportions. 

“No.”

“Ever think Jason calls Tim ‘Replacement’ as a jab to how you and Bruce treated _him_?  This is all guesswork on my part, but I am a better detective than you idiots when it comes to emotions.”

He sighed. 

“Seems the Batgirls and Alfred are the only ones that can pull us together, huh?” he said.  Stephanie grinned. 

“Nah.  I’m just the best Robin, dork.”

“ _Never_ tell Damian that.”

* * *

 

**Jason**

He kind of wanted to punch Doctor Raoul Alvarez just about anywhere it hurt, because the dude was a douche.  Seriously, like, even if he turned out innocent of the murders, Jason might just shoot him on principle. 

He was interviewing the guy via his Red Hood persona, which meant that normally he was intimidating and interrogating. Instead, the douche was just extra pissy.  

“No, seriously, what do you want?” the guy grumbled.  At the very least, the guy was pigheaded enough that probably even the Joker wouldn’t faze him.  Of course, until a bullet went through his brain. 

“I want an answer.  Y’see, I was friends with Missy Afanc, so you’d better start explaining why she’s dead if you have anything to do with it.”

“Who?”  The guy looked pretty confused.  Still, it could be an act. 

“You know how there’s this ‘Jack the Ripper’ kind of dude making his way around?  I’ve got a sneaking suspicion you had something to do with it.  Maybe hired someone to do the actual dirty work, but—”

“I would never end someone’s life,” the doctor snapped, “I’m not some sort of heathen.  I prolong and promote life.  Ending it is an abomination.”  Hoo boy, that was not the argument he wanted to have today.

“You and Batman should have a talk,” he grumbled, “Seriously.”

“The Bat?  He’s insane,” the guy sneered, “Not letting the police force do their jobs.  It’s a disgrace, really, all you so-called heroes—real heroes don’t hide behind masks.”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” Jason ground out, “Now.  Can you provide me with alibis for the past two weeks to prove your innocence?”  The guy rattled off names and records, still annoyed more than anything.  It all checked out—even his phone calls and messages.  No suspicious communication.  He’d run it all by Oracle; some of it was personal stuff that needed to be hacked further to be confirmed. 

“I really want to shoot you,” Jason said, “But you’re clean.  Don’t give me a reason to.”  The doctor glared him right out the door.

* * *

Angelina Kassel was a young veterinarian, about Barbara’s age, with a shock of bright red hair and immaculate makeup. 

“Hey sweetheart,” she offered her dog a treat.  “Red Hood, eh?  I don’t suppose you’re here because of a mutual love of the color?” she gestured to her red leather jacket and her red lipstick. 

“Nah.  Investigation into the Jack the Ripper copycat.  You’re one of the few people we’ve narrowed it down to.”  She seemed pretty nice, all in all.  Charismatic.  Sweet.  Sorta reminded him of Artemis. 

“My weird hours left me a suspect, huh?  Down to business,” she sighed, “Right.  I’ve been on the clock with animals of all kinds during the murders.  Overtime and all.”

“Does the facility have security cameras to back that up?”

“Not in the operating rooms, but all other public areas.” 

“I’m going to check those out if you don’t mind.  Wait here.”

“Sure,” she smiled, and Jason checked the security feed, sending it all to Tim in the meantime. 

“So, did you find anything?” she asked, “I mean, I can’t be the only suspect.”

“I mean, the last guy was an asshole, but unfortunately, asshole doesn’t mean guilty,” he shrugged.  She laughed. 

“I think that if it did, this city would be a population of three, and that’s pushing it.”

“Heh, you’ve got a point.  My teammate will get back to me in a sec, mind waiting up on me?” 

“I’ve got to clean up anyway, and my boyfriend, Greg, cancelled tonight.”  Boyfriend?  Could be an accomplice if she was guilty.  And Jason was trained to notice things—that never really left him.  She was wearing a little cross necklace, delicately shining at the hollow of her throat.  She was a doctor, of sorts.  And despite her sweetness . . .

He got a call from Tim. 

“Red, any news?”

“Mine are clean.  And I just ran through the footage—there’s a repeating customer and a bit of a routine every time he comes in.  Facial recognition zeroes him in as Gregory Sutten, a butcher from a deli halfway between Gotham and Bludhaven.”  A butcher and a vet?  Odd combination. 

“Hm.  Any weirdness on your end?”  They’d agreed that as the code—weird for _I think it’s them, be ready_ , problems for _they’re innocent, back to the drawing board_ , and suspicion for _Danger it’s them probably going to fight now_. 

“Sounds good.  I’m going to check Sutten out now.  Oracle says he’s— _Jason he’s right outside the vet._ ”

“Got it.  Come over to pick up the info ASAP, okay?  I think I’ll finish up here quick and head home.”

* * *

 

**Tim**

Seriously, if Jason didn’t die in there, Tim would end him himself.  As information on Gregory Sutten came through on his comm, he sped faster towards the vet.  _Damn, why couldn’t Liehr have been closer?_

Sutten was a hitman who’d gotten out of jail on good behavior, but that wasn’t the worrying part.  If he and Kassel were in it together, she must have held something big over him—and desperate plus killer was not a good combination to make. 

He arrived two blocks away, and swung the rest of his way to the roof of the vet, watching Gregory—a dude with long, dyed red hair and a creepy grin. 

“Nightwing, you in Gotham or Bludhaven tonight?”

“Bludhaven. Everything okay?”

“Peachy.  Gonna take down the Ripper with Hood tonight if possible.  Anyone else in Gotham?”

“Robin’s there, if you need him.”

“He’s sick in bed, despite his protests.”

“That little liar,” he said, completely too affectionately for Tim’s tastes. 

“Whatever—It’s two on two once I jump in, which is plenty fair.”

“Be careful.  And make sure Jason is, too.”

“Right.”

He waited, perched on the roof, while Gregory leaned against the wall outside the door.

* * *

 

**Jason**

Angelina seemed perfectly willing to pretend that nothing had changed, despite the fact that her murderous boyfriend was coming to keep Red Hood off her back. 

“So, do vets have specialties?  Like, do you prefer dogs or cats?”  She snorted. 

“Sorry, did you just ask me whether I’m a dog or a cat person during a murder investigation?”

“Nothing is sacred, I’m afraid.”  Her smile tightened.  _Ha.  There’s the ticket._

“No, I suppose not.”

The great thing about his helmet was that he didn’t have to school his expressions while he talked.  It let him get a little fiercer with interrogations without having to be in control when he realized something. 

“Got any pets?  Family?” he prodded, grinning viciously, sounding nonchalant. 

“I get enough animals here,” she shrugged, “And my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew passed a few years ago, so no.  No family.”  Hm, no husband?

“How’s Greg, then, your boyfriend?  How’s your relationship?”  He opened up one of the operating rooms and glanced around.  There was a pet carrier in the corner, with two bags of dog food and one of cat litter leaned up against it. 

“He’s great.  He introduced me to some new recipes in our cooking class, and he really got me out of a funk.  We’re good together.”  Jason nodded absentmindedly, walking up to the carrier. 

“That’s nice.  A bright spot after some grief.  We all need our own distractions.”

“He’s not a distraction,” she snapped before schooling herself.  “He’s passionate.  Romantic.”  He opened the litter bag and rummaged a little before—

“And willing to help you hide bodies while you carve out their hearts?” he continued, knocking the bag over.  It had two hearts and a few fingers buried in the stuff meant to control odor.  Not half bad, idea-wise, but still gross. 

She froze. 

“Well, I guess the game is up, huh?  Gregory!” she called, but there was a thump and a crash.  A strange revving and rumbling started echoing down the hall, closer and closer,

“Hey, Hood!  How do you hide your guns so well?  This guy had a _chainsaw_ in his sidecar for his motorcycle.  The physics don’t make sense.  I can’t even fit my rifle anywhere on my person without being obvious.”  More struggle—and Gregory collapsed in front of the door, Red Robin on his back. 

Angelina’s eyes were wide. 

“ _No!_ ” she growled, “They don’t deserve it!  They don’t want to have kids; why do they need it?  They aren’t even _in love._   I will never have it, so why should they!” She picked up a gun and the fight started. 

Ah, Lydia had it on the nose. 

She hauled herself onto him, jabbing hard and blocking his first attack.  Jason punched her in the shoulder, swiping his foot under the opposite leg to take her down.  This wasn’t a trained assassin; Jason had had a worse opponent in Damian during a sparring session. 

But she was willing to kill, and so was Greg, who was revving the chainsaw again.  It was a small room, so it wasn’t exactly the most convenient of weapons. 

It did nick Jason all the same—or rather, tore a gash in his shoulder before he could dodge properly. 

“Mother _fucker_ ,” he swore, backing up from the action.  Tim was vicious after that—he got the chainsaw away from the dude and jammed a sedative into him once he’d tackled the redhead down.  Gregory got up for another moment, whirling to face Angelina. 

“Hey, sweetie, I’ll fix this—” she offered, opening her arms to catch him. 

He lurched, a knife in hand, and stabbed her.  Tim grabbed one of the guns Jason had been using and fired—the sedative was finally taking its toll, though, and Greg collapsed on top of her. 

“Dammit,” Tim grunted, “Okay, okay.  Babs, patch me in to GCPD and a medical dispatch.”

“ _Got it, Red._ ”

“Red . . . ?” asked Angelina, smiling a little.  “He always told me I looked good in red . . .” Her head lolled back as she passed out. 

“This is Red Robin.  I have the two responsible for the Jack the Ripper case at the veterinarian at twelfth and Rose Avenue—I sedated one, but he stabbed his partner and injured Red Hood.  I’m taking Hood to our personal clinic.  I’ll tape up her wound so it doesn’t bleed more, but Hood is my priority.”  A pause. “Right.  Thank you.  Red Robin out.”  He found some Ace bandages and wrapped her torso around a few times—the blood wasn’t soaking through, so it was looking good for Jackie the Ripper. 

“You’re not gonna bridal carry me out of here, are you?  I don’t think what little dignity I have could take it.”

“As you wish,” Tim smirked, picking Jason up.  “We’re going to Leslie’s, okay?”

“Fine.”

* * *

It was a day or two later when Jason was finally walking free of the clinic.  Stephanie, Tim, and Barbara had all visited—and the newest kid, Duke, had popped in as well near the end of his recovery. 

“Look, man,” the guy said, “I don’t know you all very well yet, but if there’s anything I learned about this crazy family so far, it’s that almost none of you follow doctors’ orders, and it puts you in danger.  Stay the hell in bed when she says, man.”  Jason raised his eyebrows. 

“And why, exactly, do you care?”

“Because Tim’s not the only guy who really thought Robin was a hero. And I may not be one of you bats specifically, but I sure as hell am family.  Maybe a cousin instead of a brother or something—anyway.  Take care of yourself.”

“Back at you, Duke.”

“I am literally the only one that actually lets my body heal,” he grumbled, “Damian comes close, but I know what shit condition I’ll be in later if I keep on trucking.  One of my friends got an injury during a football game.  Kept playing.  Turns out he aggravated his injury—they lost the game anyway, and now he can’t walk.  Don’t be a dumbass about your own body.”

“I’ve kind of already died?  So I’ll take anything at this point.”  The kid rolled his eyes, muttering something about stubborn Bats (or stubborn ass? Same thing.) and left with a dismissive wave. 

* * *

**Gregory**

“You know,” he shrugged, “It’s an awfully dreadful thing, the state of this city.  So drab.  So grey.  No style whatsoever.” The man in the next cell was lively, whoever he was. 

“Ha, yes—it could certainly use a little color.”

“I was working with a girl who was torn up over being sterile.  She wanted to paint everything red.  How could I not oblige?  She thought she was using me, of course; the almost interesting ones often do.”

“But they’re always fun to play with, for a time.”

“Pity I had to kill her, regardless, but she was slowing me down.  Say, I’m new to town—what’s the tale on the Bats?”  For once, his neighbor was silent a moment before answering. 

“You’ve come to the right place to ask, my good sir.  What do you say we swap stories?”  Gregory gave him a shark-toothed grin through the ventilation grate.  This was the man he’d been hoping to meet in passing someday for work—it seems the world still has surprises in store for him. 

“ _Do_ tell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so anyone watch Black Butler? I stole Madam Red and Grell for this little excursion. Grell Suttcliff--Gregory Sutten--will mainly be the catalyst for the main villain's next scheme, but otherwise those two are pretty much done.  
> At the very least, I think I've settled into how I write Steph - more emotionally competent than most of them, and willing to call them on bullshit. They underestimated her for a long time, so she's found what she's good at (essentially she's acting as Robin Therapist so far, but we'll get into her as a person more as time passes). Don't get me wrong, I love Dick Grayson. He's actually one of my favorite DC heroes. But I will admit that the sweetheart doesn't know when to back off, and doesn't know how to actually listen without advising. That's his control issue - he thinks he can 'fix' things his own way.  
> Is this too much dialogue? I always feel that my fics are dialogue heavy, but this one is really conversation after conversation. I think I know what's happening next, so hopefully a little more doing than saying. And I have yet to bring Bruce in at all - that will certainly be fun attempting to write.


	4. Assume and Prepare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's settled in Gotham, but his family is annoyingly making an effort to be a part of his life. Also, his birthday's coming up.

* * *

**Jason**

“You come into my house, on the day my friends are visiting, and you ask me to do a mission report.”  He’d literally been organizing an Outlaws get-together for months.  Their schedules hadn’t lined up very well after everyone went their separate ways for a time, but today they’d been miraculously free.  But here Dick was, in his apartment, looking around. 

“Easy, Godfather,” Dick grinned, “I’m not here for a mission report.  Well, I am, but not immediately.  We got Tim’s side of what went down, but you were with Kassel longer, and she was definitely the mastermind.  Also, just dropping in to say hi.”

Jason just stared.  _Dick Grayson in my house with that stupid earnest grin.  It’s like sticking a sunflower in a burnt-out building._

“Well, Kori, Artemis, Birzarro, and Roy are all coming over, so unless you want to be harassed by them—” Oh _that_ would go over well.  Roy and Kori knew Dick fine, and didn’t totally hate him, but Bizarro would confuse him and Artemis might scare him. 

Come to think of it, even Kori might scare him.  Dick had a healthy respect for superpowered ladies that could break his bones, even ones he dated. 

_“_ It’s not going to take that long.  Just—let me know if you’re free?  You have my number, thanks to Tim, and I want to apologize about some stuff properly.  I don’t want to let it lie.”

“Ooooookay.  Yeah.  Batburger?  Saturday?” he offered.  The Joker seasoned fries were _good_ , dammit.  Who cared if they were just making money off a psychopath?

“I’m definitely trying out the Night-Wings this time.  Maybe a couple of Batburgers for Titus.”

* * *

“Artemis!” he crowed, throwing his arms wide for a hug.  She, of course, hugged a bit too hard and might have bruised his ribs, but that was how he knew she was happy to see him.  It must have been an Amazon thing. 

“I had to get here first, or the others might have decided to kidnap you without me,” she grinned, “Then we’d never get to catch up.”

“Yeah, well, I missed you.  Come on,” he offered, getting out of the doorway for her to come in. 

Bizarro and Roy followed, carrying four boxes of pizza each.  Kori waved from behind them. 

“I’ve got cheesy breadsticks, too,” she offered. 

“Awesome.  Well, make yourselves at home, guys—"

Eight pizzas had not been enough, so Jason ordered in some pasta from a nearby Italian delivery.  Roy and he were big eaters on their own, but add an Amazon, a Superman clone, and a Tameranean, and really, it wasn’t surprising that they’d demolished the food. 

“Are you still going to be travelling with us sometimes?” asked Artemis. 

“Of course—I wouldn’t leave you guys behind.  After all, I’m the one who kinda brought both versions of this team together.”

The rest of the night was spent with Kori updating Jason about _Krin_ , essentially a space telenova he'd been watching but hadn't had time to see for a few weeks. Roy was explaining some of his weaponry to Artemis, who sat fascinated while asking about the finer details, and Bizarro just grinning and watching, leaning back on the couch.  Jason grinned—this.  _This was pretty awesome._  

* * *

 

**?????**

The two of them belonged nowhere, so maybe that’s why they were next to each other.  He could hear them talking, plotting, laughing.  He could hear them fucking _reminiscing_ about their best kills, their best games.  Who put him in a cell by the literal Jack the Ripper killer and the fucking Joker?  He’d killed a couple rival gangsters—he was _not_ in their league.  No one was, really. 

“And my mission, you know, is to spread death all I want.  I’d normally be upset by being caught when I got attached to little Angie, but I’m in Gotham to get some unfinished business done.”

“Ah, what might that be?” He wished he could fall asleep.  He didn’t want another gruesome, creepy story.  He’d had enough after the Joker had talked about torturing the second, then third Robins, and Gregory had responded by explaining about one of his victims—Missy Afanc—in gruesome detail. 

“You see, I came across a demon or two.  Powerful, lovely things.  That one hero in a trench coat—Constantine, is that his name?—tried to stop me from summoning.  They’re just darlings, though.  I had such fun, you see—they gave me all sorts of knickknacks and _secrets._   Like, for example—a little pendant that lets the wearer time travel to set things on the path they belong.  Secrets about possession—humans can do it too.  And, my unfinished business: Red Hood.  How he came to be, that is.”

God, would they stop _giggling_ about it?  He would rather be in a cell with Scarecrow himself than anywhere near these bozos. 

“Hm, well I already know that.  I am the one that killed him in the first place.”

“And _I’m_ the one that brought him back to life.  After all, he’s such an inspiration.”

An inquisitive hum, and then more laughter.  Gregory continued once they’d paused enough to breathe.

“Have _I_ got a story for you.”

* * *

**Jason**

Jason plopped down with the trays of food, sitting across from Dick. 

“Well, Officer Grayson, I’m going to eat, and you’re going to tell me why you brought me here.”

“You’re the one that chose Batburger,” Dick reminded him.  Jason shrugged. 

“You wanted to talk.  And I sent you the story on Kassel. So, what’s up?”  Dick didn’t answer at first.  He took a bite of one Night-Wing, chewed slowly, and then sighed.  Stalling, but he was getting on with it at least. 

“First of all, I’m sorry about how bitter I was when you first became Robin,” he began, “That’s on me and Bruce, not you.  I’m not a very good big brother, I guess.”

“I—wow.  Is this going to be just one big apology fest?  Because if so, I think we need whiskey, not Mountain Dew and Joker fries.”

“No, this is—well, part of it is an apology thing.  The other part is getting your birthday wish list so Steph doesn’t tear her hair out when I don’t give her good ideas.  The rest of us have our own plans for gifts, but she asked me specifically.” 

“Well, if you’re gonna apologize for things, do it.  I’ve already forgiven you for at least half the shit you’ve pulled already.”

“Seriously?  Even though I haven’t even said I’m sorry?”

“I figure you’re just idealistic enough to think you’ve been doing the right thing most of the time, and stubborn enough to believe it even afterwards.  So, continue.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you died.”  Jason shrugged, and that seemed to let out a torrent of things Dick felt guilty over. 

“I’m sorry I let Bruce get out of control.”

“I’m sorry about how I treated you when you got back.”

“I’m sorry for wanting to send you to Arkham—that was the _dumbest_ idea ever.”

“I’m sorry for taking on the cowl and fighting so hard about it.  We could have split it or something.”

“I’m . . . not sorry for killing the Joker,” he said. 

“What.”  This was _not_ part of the discussion.  Fantasies and alternate universes weren’t part of the conversation, Jason was pretty sure. 

“He got ahold of Tim.  This was while Harley was still with the Joker—I think you might have just ended up with the League at this point—Bruce and I were dead set on not letting him get another Robin.  Harley had Tim locked up, injected with Joker serum or breathing laughing gas or something.  What they left us was a torn up, singed Robin suit, one that he wore.  He started talking about you and the crowbar, and I—”  Dick grimaced.  “I beat him to death, strangled him, I don’t know which did it.  Bruce resuscitated him, whatever it was, but I _did_ kill him.  I was horrified, and I know that you would have been angry that the monster was brought back.  I know.  But . . . god, I don’t know whether I wish he was still dead.  That’s selfish, because the only reason I’d want him alive is to know I’m not a killer.  Does that qualify?  I don’t know.”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.”  Dick was silent for a while. 

“Just—can I try again?”

“Hey, if I get a pass for being a crime lord of epic proportions, you get a pass for being emotionally manipulated into killing the one bastard everyone wants dead,” Jason insisted.  Dick sighed.

“Well, on to the happier part of this discussion.” Jason raised an eyebrow. 

“Birthday gifts?  Really?”

“The whole family is in town for once.  We figured we needed something fun and non-case related—can you blame us for jumping at the opportunity?”

“Why do you need my birthday as an excuse to get together?” he all but whined in retaliation, threatening to flick his balled-up straw wrapper at him. 

Dick only grinned. 

“We don’t—want to come over to the manor?”  Dick began a few ideas of what they could do with the other Robins as a sort of bonding thing.  He got more excited with each family activity that came to mind, until he was practically buzzing with energy at his final idea.  Jason chewed on his burger, his mind too blank from Dick’s ridiculous choice to come up with a response. 

“Well?  What do you think?” Jason frowned.  Honestly, what the hell?  Was he _serious?_  

“Come _on_ , let’s do this!  It’ll be good for us!” Dick encouraged. 

“Have you _played_ this game before?” If Dick thought for a moment this would ease tension between any of them, he was sorely mistaken. 

“No?  But I’ve played other racing games with them.  Come on, it should be fun.”  Fine.  _If he wants his ass kicked, who am I to tell him no?_

* * *

“My name is Princess Peach.  You just red shelled me.  Prepare to die,” growled Stephanie in an odd accent that was probably an attempt at imitating the Princess Bride, but it just ended up being goofy. 

“Nononononono,” Dick said as he skidded off the course.  That was the third time in one race.  Duke was just swearing up and down.  Kate had walked in, looked at the screen, shook her head, and walked out. 

Damian just made a weird ten-year-old growl-roar-screaming noise. 

Jason had expected this; why had no one else expected this?  Had no one in this house played Mario Kart before?  He knew they were sheltered rich snobs at times, but come _on._

“You’re _all_ my bitches,” grinned Tim, “Rainbow Road is mine! Take _that_ , demon brat.”

The surprise at the end was that Dick won—which, honestly, was probably the least likely scenario to end in bloodshed, because Damian would have killed anyone else who would have beaten him, and Jason would have helped Tim hide the tiny body if the brat had won. 

“I demand another round!” Damian said, clenching his fists at his sides. 

“I think we need a break,” Dick said instead, “Alfred made hot cocoa.”  That shut everyone up and sent them to the kitchen where Alfred had begun filling mugs with steaming chocolatey goodness.  If there was one thing Jason was sure of, of all Alfred’s skills, he appreciated the cooking the most.  Even in August, Alfred’s cocoa was not to be turned down. 

He sipped it and smiled, noting that everyone shut up when there was something tasty to be had.  He hadn’t even noticed when—

“Alfred, did you save me a cup by chance?” Bruce said softly from the other end of the room.  Jason nearly spilled his mug.  _Dammit._   _I’m supposed to be immune to his bat-ninja moves, what the hell._ No one else had jumped. 

“Of course, Master Bruce.  I wouldn’t make one for myself if I hadn’t planned for one or two others wandering in.”

The others continued on like nothing was awkward—after all, they all had interacted with Jason or Bruce on plenty of occasions.  Bruce looked like the only other one that noticed the tension building in Jason’s shoulders and jaw.  

Fuck this, and fuck them.  The birds were doing this on purpose.  Dick had trapped him there with Mario Kart, and then Alfred had him with the cocoa.  He couldn’t just leave it unfinished. 

“Jason?” Bruce asked, and no, he did not want to answer. 

“Would you go to church with me on Wednesday?”  Whooooa.  Back the fuck up. 

_Church?_   He’d—he hadn’t—

It was their thing they did.  When he was Robin.  Jason had grown up in Crime Alley, but he had grown up _with_ a devout nun or two.  The church on the end of the street had been a safe haven from the cold more than once in the winter, and they’d always had good food or clothing drives.  Then, when Bruce took him in, he’d run off most Sundays to go to Saint Peter Alcantara Church, sometimes for Mass, sometimes to just sit in the quiet.  They always had a pretty good pastor there (probably because the diocese leaders knew that Gotham needed what good they could get, and only guys that really cared about others would live anywhere near Crime Alley). 

Eventually, Bruce caught on, and started coming with him to a few services and Masses.  Usually only holy days or holidays, though. 

“It’s the Assumption,” Bruce reminded him, though he already knew.  Jason still occasionally went—not nearly as often as he used to—but it was a weird, settling comfort to go. 

“And your birthday’s Thursday,” Stephanie pointed out.  Everyone turned to look at Jason expectantly. 

“Uh.  Yeah, I was planning on going on Wednesday.  Saint Peter’s?” Jason asked tensely.  Bruce nodded, sipping his cocoa. 

“Yes.  Morning or late?  I’m free for either.”

“Morning—ten thirty?”

Meanwhile, the others had clearly caught on to the uneasiness—or maybe it had transferred over to them, because they were gawking at the two like they were witnessing some sort of slow-motion train wreck.

“That’s fine with me.” Another sip. “Do you want to bring Roy or any of your other friends?  I know they may not like me, but if I remember, you both went to church when he was visiting Gotham.”

“Roy’s agnostic, but he liked Father Jerome’s sermons,” Jason corrected.  “And bringing any of the others would be a train wreck.  He’d rather sleep in, anyway.  Did you go, while I was gone?”

“A few times.”  Dick snorted.  Bruce glared at him with a _shut up_ kind of look, but that only ever caused the opposite with him. 

“He went every Sunday for a few months, he means, and then nothing once Tim got in on the family business.”  Bruce narrowed his eyes at Dick, clearly almost pouting.  Jason wanted to laugh, really. 

“And I would hope that Master Jason would do us the favor of coming over for his birthday, or allowing us to visit him, perhaps?” Alfred said. 

They got _Alfred_ to gang up on him?   They must have been really sure about wanting to do this.  Fine.  It’d either work like however they wanted, or it would end in explosions. 

On second thought . . . both.  It could be both.  It was probably both. 

Oh lord.

* * *

Mass was a quiet affair, and Jason honestly enjoyed it.  It had been a while, and always left him feeling a little lighter. 

The homily was interesting—Father George began talking about the just war doctrine from the catechism and how it really applied to all people, not just countries fighting one another.  Sometimes, even inner wars had to be worth fighting for, all that jazz.  It was odd, for the particular scripture that day, but it was Gotham after all, so everything was always a little weird.  Bruce glanced at him oddly during the sermon. 

“Would you like me to drop you off at your apartment?” he offered.  Jason shrugged. 

“Whatever you want, B.” And Bruce smiled at that. 

* * *

 

**Barbara**

“Are they injured?  Does Jason look like he wants to walk in front of a bus?” she demanded. 

“No, they’re—B’s smiling!  And so’s Jason!  Did we walk into an alternate universe?” They’d sent Cass and Tim to spy as their resident detective and expert on being silent.  After all, the last time Jason and Bruce had gone unsupervised, well—

It was also because they were nosy gossips.  Barbara knew they had no shame; she was, after all, the nosiest. 

“I need popcorn,” Steph grinned, “You guys are hilarious.  Watching the original bats lose their shit is great, isn’t it?” she asked, nudging Duke.  He snorted. 

“You all are both way weirder and way more normal than I would have guessed.  Like, you’re real people, but you’re also such . . .” he struggled to find a word. 

“Nerds?” suggested Harper, smirking.  “Like, you don’t know what to do with people, but you all have your own expertise.  It’s cute.  Like watching kittens fumble their way up a chair the first time.”

“Sh!  They’re getting in the car.  Oh my _god_ B’s driving Jason home.  Jason is telling him where the apartment is!” Tim said over the comms.  A quiet laugh could be heard from Cass. 

“They’re okay,” she said, “Let’s go home.”

“What?  But I wanna _know_ ,” he whined. 

* * *

 

**Bruce**

“How long do you think they’ve been watching?” Jason asked.  He thought about it for a moment. 

“The entire time, likely.  Cass and Tim, with the others probably watching at the Cave.  Cass was nice enough to give me a signal before we went in.”

“What, she didn’t slip up?” Jason snorted.  It was odd—the League often enough was intimidated by him, and some of the newcomers occasionally thought he was superpowered.  People assumed so much of him.  Even his kids, apparently. 

“She’s a master at hiding if she wants.  And with anyone else, she might not have been able to keep quiet.”

“Ah.  Tim can get scary quiet, too.” 

“Exactly.”  They pulled up to the apartment complex and Jason got out. 

“I’m still not happy with you,” Jason warned. 

“I know,” Bruce said, “I don’t expect you to be.  I’m shooting for toleration at this point; we’ll see what we can do.”

Jason glared at him for a moment, but then he grinned wryly. 

“Well, we’re there.  Maybe even grudging like.  I wouldn’t come to the Manor with you around otherwise.  I’m not a martyr.” _Of all of us, you’re the only one we’ve stuck that title to.  You’re really not._

A twitch pulled at the corner of his lips.

“I’m going to warn you now— _everyone_ brought gifts.  And everyone is coming.”

“Seriously?” Jason pouted.  God, his kid—still his kid, no matter what—just might finally be okay.  He hated being in the spotlight, hated crowding—had thrown tantrums to avoid galas in the beginning, but really, he didn’t mind people.  He just didn’t like the personal, laser focus on himself.  Clearly that hadn’t changed. 

Bruce smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Jason's Catholic! I admit, I remember Father Todd existing, and Jason is certainly no Daredevil, but I threw it in there. I figure he's kinda like me in his faith - he believes the major, important stuff, and aligns some of his own interpretations with how he sees the world. The just war doctrine are the four points labeled in it; if you're on a device that can hover over things then you should be able to see the explanation there.   
> If not, the Catholic just war doctrine states that for a war to be just, it must follow these points:   
> 1\. the damage inflicted by the aggressor on the nation or community of nations must be lasting, grave, and certain (Joker on anyone, yes)  
> 2\. all other means of putting an end to it must have been shown to be impractical or ineffective (Jason certainly thinks so)  
> 3\. there must be serious prospects of success (Again, killing usually tends to be permanent, but this is for some reason the thing in this story that keeps being brought up: Killing the Joker might not keep him dead. Jason hopes that he's in the right here because the alternative is terrifying.)  
> 4\. the use of arms must not produce evils and disorders graver than the evil to be eliminated (Also Bruce doesn't want him killing but he thinks that his hands have plenty of blood on them and killing the Joker won't hurt his soul any more than others)  
> Yes, I grew up with fourteen years of private Catholic education. No, it's not going to invade the rest of the story exponentially, but I feel like Jason's motivations later are going to be affected by his faith. As for the Joker and Greg and our little unknown narrator - the dude's just unlucky, really, and unimportant, but he's overhearing all the juicy stuff! Next chapter will of course be Jason's birthday with presents, family bonding, and whoops a villain makes a mess. I've written none of this, but that's my plan and I'm (hopefully) sticking to it! I didn't focus on the Outlaws too much because I know little about their group adventures, but Jason has to have friends outside of Gotham. He has to. I may bring them back as support if things go south with any Batfam members or if he's in a rough spot, though.


	5. The Birthday and the Deliberate Train Wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason's birthday, some villains plot, and a major publicity disaster known as Jason Todd.

 

* * *

**Damian**

He frowned at the assembly.  When had, indeed, this cobbled-together family become so large?  Thomas had jokingly put together a family tree, all extending from Alfred.  Brown had retorted with her own, admittedly more accurate piece—a timeline of adoptions and alliances. 

What did that make him?  He’d claimed to be the only blood son, and yet—

Even now, he felt as if he was likely not so close in this family.  Perhaps he wasn’t family at all.

Regardless, the planning for Todd’s party continued.  Everyone had haphazardly taped up colorful streamers and balloons in the dining room, which looked utterly strange for all the manor's normal elegance. 

A cake, baked by Pennyworth but iced by Grayson (much to everyone’s amusement) sat at the center of the table.  _Happy 20 th! _In bright red icing with sprinkles—damn Grayson and his sugar addiction, really—practically coating the surrounding surface. 

Todd came in and blinked owlishly at everything and everyone. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY _!_ ” they shouted.  Drake was particularly obnoxious, whining it out longer than the rest of them. 

“I didn’t think you meant _everyone_ everyone, B.  Okay, hi guys.  Gifts or food first?”  Everyone scrambled to their seats as Father began serving dinner, letting Pennyworth sit for once.  Todd looked . . . awed, was the best word. 

Todd had been a favorite experiment of Mother’s, and the mistake (No, not the mistake of his father.  His father had mourned Todd beyond reckoning).  And Todd had been a babysitter of his, in a fashion. Not that he seemed to recall. 

No one seemed to think very hard about it—that the two of them had been with Mother together for some time. 

After a more than acceptable meal, everyone gathered in the living room, still chattering, and Todd’s eyes widened once more. 

“Do you really think so little of us?” Damian raised a brow. 

“No, I just—didn’t think I was exactly worth the effort.  I know you’re my family, but there’s a reason I’m the black sheep.”

“We’re all black sheep,” Cain interrupted. “All different.”

Todd was silent for a moment before he snorted. 

“I feel twelve again with all this stuff.  What the hell, guys.”

“Making up for lost time,” Brown insisted, “Let us spoil you.”

Todd glanced at the small pile and sighed. 

* * *

  **Jason**

It was kind of amazing.  It was reminding him of before he died, but weirder, busier, better.  He decided to begin with the gifts by size because he was an ass like that, not looking at the tags. 

“I’m going to guess who it’s from,” he decided, ripping the paper off the large box as a few people chuckled.  Sue him, he could act like a kid on his birthday. 

It was in a plain shipping box, which eliminated Alfred, Bruce, Tim, Babs, and the brat.  He pulled a pocket knife out and cut the tape, flipping the flaps open to reveal—

“What?” he spluttered, pulling it out.  It was a little breakfast station with a coffee machine, griddle, and toaster oven all built together.  It was great, honestly—but who would bother with a quirky thing like—

“Dick?”

“Guilty.”

Stephanie had bought him a sword—and not just any sword.  It was the kurikara katana from Blue Exorcist—and it was an actual functioning katana. 

“You big fucking nerd,” she said, grinning as he ogled it.  The thing could actually prove useful on occasion, he was sure of it 

Apparently, everyone had gone shopping in groups—the Batgirls and Kate had all gone to find varying nerdy things that he’d enjoy.  Barbara got him a collection of classic books he loved, Kate had a set of soap and shampoo and other stuff (the soap was labeled with a Lady Macbeth quote.  Yes to all the Shakespeare, really), and Cass provided a leather journal.  Inside the front cover she’d written, _I’m still learning my words.  Here’s a way for you to keep yours._   He might have teared up a little at it. 

Bruce got him new leather combat boots and a coat that looked quite a bit more expensive than anything else in Jason’s wardrobe, but—points for trying, at least.  They'd be useful.

Duke had gotten him a bunch of Wonder Woman shirts and stuff, which, of course, was awesome since she was the best League member ever.  Harper and Julia bought him a phone case and headphones each in blaring metallic red. 

Alfred got him a really nice wall clock and alarm clock set, no doubt remembering the days Jason had slept in so long that he’d have breakfast at lunchtime.  _Ha, bet you wish Tim would do that on occasion_.  Speaking of Tim—

“No fucking way.”

“Dude, I think you fail to understand just how much I can do with a computer and three cups of coffee,” the little shit grinned. 

Because in front of him was, if he was correct, four films he’d been dying to get, but had difficulty finding decent copies.  Two Kurosawas and a Chano Urueta, plus an old cartoon he’d watched to death as a kid. 

“I didn’t even remember the name of this thing; how’d you get ahold of it?” he asked, examining the _Willy the Sparrow_ movie that for some inexplicable reason he’d watched on a tape on repeat when he was really little—until he’d messed it up and the film got tangled beyond repair. 

“If you look up ‘sparrow cartoon’ the Russian dub actually comes up pretty quickly,” Tim replied, amused, “The English was harder to find, but I found short clips, cut them together, and used a few voice programs to do the rest.  I honestly want to know where _you_ found it.”

“Garage sale, probably.  A bunch of b-rated kids’ movies and animation knockoffs got circulated around while VHS was still a thing.”

“Anyway, I remembered you talked about it, so I burned it and upped the resolution quality a bit.”

“Seriously, thanks,” Jason nodded.  So that meant the last gift of the night was the brat’s. 

It was a pair of pictures in frames along with some scientific and medical documents. 

The first picture was actually a drawing of Dick, Jason, Tim, Steph, and Damian.  A tiny signature in the corner proclaimed it was the brat’s work—which was pretty impressive, especially for a ten-year-old.  The second was—

It was a photo from a few years ago, while he was at the League.  It must have been, because there was Jason with Talia’s hands on his shoulders, grimacing at the camera while he held a particularly broody looking child. 

“Is this _us?_ ” Jason squawked.  His memories from the League were progressively spotty as he went back, so it wasn’t a surprise that he didn’t remember this picture or any scenarios leading up to it.  Because apparently one of his duties for Ra’s and Talia was babysitting, and that was probably the most hilarious and aggravating thing he’s ever witnessed. 

Everyone leaned in to look, so he just flipped the photo outward to face them.  Of course, Dick started laughing so hard he was crying, and the rest were either stifling giggles or looking constipated. 

* * *

  **Gregory**

“Do you know when a Lazarus Pit is most potent?  When it’s formed—and the things can be tampered with, you know.  A little magic here, a little sample of chemicals there, and the bloodlust can override someone completely, make them entirely different.”  The Joker had all the dirt on the locals, but Greg had travelled the world; he knew a thing or two about life and death. 

“I _like_ this.  So if, say, we take a trip to the future—find some tech, have some fun—and apply a little chemistry and alchemy, we can absolutely ruin the kid before he even pulls his zombie stunt?”

“Of course, all this is hypothetical at this point—I mean, we’re jailed,” Gregory gestured grandly at the bars of the cell.  One of their neighbors grumbled in reply.  A hiss and squeak of metal, a clang—

And the Joker was in the hallway. 

“Greg, dear, mind introducing me to those demon friends of yours?”

* * *

  **Jason**

Before he left the Manor, Jason called Damian aside. 

“What are these, exactly?” he held out the documents. 

“I bribed Mother into giving me the documents regarding your stay with the League.  I was too young to recall everything, and she kept us apart when you were training.  I think she meant for you to be my guard once you killed Drake.  However, they didn’t know how you were resurrected initially, so you were more a . . . research subject at first.  I knew they would have documentation regarding that research.  I figured you would want it.”  Jason nodded, packing the documents in with the rest of his gifts before he headed back to his apartment.  He hesitated, but there really wasn’t a chance. 

“Aw, come here, kid,” he grinned, embracing the former child assassin. 

“Gah, let me _go_ , Todd, I _swear._ ”

* * *

He woke up to his phone blown up with texts. 

Roy: dude have you seen the news

Dick: I’m really sorry Jason we didn’t expect to have anyone around

Roy: dude srsly wake up this is insane. what are you going to do?

Tim: I’m on it with Bruce.  We’ll figure something out.

So, naturally, Jason pulled up the Gazette’s Twitter account to find out what had happened. Someone needed to put a restraining order on Vicki fucking Vale, is what happened. 

 _Breaking:_ Jason Todd lookalike seen celebrating with the Wayne family on the late son’s birthday.  How irreverent can Bruce Wayne get?  Who is the mystery man?  Find more in the article below! 

Jason thought it would blow over, as a fluke or conspiracy theory often does, but apparently that wasn’t in the cards.  Dick showed him a few articles later—one by the _Daily Planet_ and one on reddit. The articles were titled: NEW WAYNE BROTHER LOOKS LIKE JASON TODD REPLACEMENT and JASON TODD: ZOMBIE OR ANTICHRIST? respectively.

“Jesus,” Jason muttered.

“Exactly,” Dick replied. 

* * *

  **Bruce**

If Vicki Vale weren’t incredibly pigheaded about this, they might have been able to go about it quietly.  That just wasn’t an option, though – she’d basically done a full tabloid-style article with photos and everything.  No one was getting out of this now that it was viral online, too. 

“There are a number of options,” Bruce pointed out, “A new identity, keeping completely out, or we might be able to swing that your death was faked.  It’s not the strangest thing to happen in this city.”

And he wasn’t wrong.  Gothamites would likely watch whatever tale they made up with the same interest they showed when Harley Quinn had started to date Poison Ivy – as odd gossip, nothing more.

Jason snorted.  “You’re telling me, B.  Well, if rumors of my death have been truthful, I’m sure we can call them exaggerations.  You willing to do the paperwork for this shitstorm?”

“I’ve had it ready in case something happened.  We just need to make an appointment with Ms. Nagi.”

“Of course, you have, why wouldn’t I expect anything else—”

* * *

  **Eliza**

It wasn’t often that Bruce Wayne called his publicist, and probably for good reason—the man was a little dull even for a playboy, and it was a miracle his company stayed so successful.  Eliza usually only had to call him to field reporters, to make schedules, to confirm dates and invites and RSVPs—he called her so rarely that she didn’t feel like she really knew the man (but her paycheck was great, so she couldn’t complain). 

The first time he called was early on in her employment, when he explained that he had adopted a son. 

He’d only called for the adoptions, the discovery of Damian, and of course, Jason’s death.  So there were only a few options as to what he had to call about now.  It likely had to do with the Jason Todd twin that the news kept bringing up—the idea made her frown as she let the phone ring twice.  _That bastard better not have done it._  

“Hello, Ms. Nagi.”

“Mr. Wayne, it’s been some time—have you adopted another child?” she asked, and there was a little silence. 

“No.  Apparently, Jason wasn’t as dead as we thought.  He showed up on my doorstep a few weeks ago—DNA testing came back yesterday, and it’s him.  I’ve spoken with authorities about it, and they’re getting the legal work done, but . . . I don’t know how exactly to go public with this.  Apparently, his death was faked.”  She sat for a few moments and processed. 

“That is . . . unexpected.”

“I understand he’s an adult, but I thought—well, Dick still has use of your services too.”

“Dick calls me more often than you do,” she chuckled, “But I think we’d better set up a meeting with Jason to see what _he_ thinks.  I understand he’s your son, Mr. Wayne, but I’d like to hear his opinion, too.  I can’t imagine what he must have gone through, poor dear.”

“I can arrange that.”

* * *

Jason Todd was still a boy.  She hadn’t met him for very long previously—only for some charity galas and such—but his eyes were hard and his jawline set firm, not trusting. 

“Mr. Todd, it’s good to see you again,” she said sincerely, “It’s been some time—Eliza Nagi.”

“Right, I remember. You kept scolding me for swearing in Spanish and Korean,” he grumbled, then seemed to stop himself.  “Ah—well, how are we doing this?  I can’t imagine we’re going to be able to stop tabloids from calling me a zombie or a fake.”

“No, that we can’t,” she shook her head, “Do you remember what _did_ happen?  It doesn’t have to be a public story, but we could play around with it,” she offered. 

Jason hesitated, and a wild fear flickered in his eyes just for a moment.  It was long enough. 

“If not, maybe something made up, then, but memorable, that has nothing to do with it?  I’m not a psychologist, but you probably want something close to the truth if you want reporters off your back.  It can be fake, but it’s better to make it easier to remember.”

 “Something fake?” he trailed off, and Eliza frowned at the grin that was forming on his face.  _Oh no._

Because here’s the thing—Bruce Wayne didn’t call her, for all his reveling, but every one of his sons did in varying degrees.  They were _disasters_ for the public eye sometimes.  Damian was surly, haughty, and opinionated; Tim forgot the difference between sleep and coffee, looking like he was in some sort of euphoric trance everywhere he went.  Even Dick, who appeared sweet and earnest, had a wicked way with words when people were cruel.  If anything, too, Dick was the worst of the children—easily debauched and unashamed at every chance, more than even Bruce could claim.  And Jason, clever, and willful, had definitely been a nightmare as a child in the media, incredibly sharp and candidly vulgar.  Things clearly hadn’t changed much, if his feral grin was anything to go by. 

But he was also smart, she remembered, and frankly Bruce hadn’t given her much to work with lately.  It was sort of boring in comparison to her earlier days.

“I’m going to regret this,” she said, “I just know it.”

“I can’t even use ‘abducted by aliens’ because that would be discriminatory.  But,” he smirked, “I could twist the truth . . . a bit.”

“I swear to everything I hold sacred, Mr. Todd,” she grumbled, “This had better be good.”

* * *

  **Bruce**

It was not good.  It was anything but.

“It’s truly amazing to see you here again, Mr. Todd,” said the interviewer, “Nothing short of a miracle.”

“I know,” Jason smiled beatifically, and this was the moment dread sank into his bones.  “I admit, it’s been a whirlwind trying to sort out the details, but here I am.”

“Now, I’m sure you’re aware we’re all wondering—where have you been?”

“I was dead, for all intents and purposes,” he said, “I really didn’t die, you see.  It was faked.  By ninjas.”

 _Dammit Jason_. 

“At least, that’s what I would call the League of Shadows goons that had me.”  Damian was going to have a _fit._  

“Ninjas,” the host repeated doubtfully. 

“Ninjas.  I mean, they were in all black, and had major combat moves, so,” he shrugged, “Makes sense to me.”

“I’m going to hogtie him and leave him in the street, with a Halloween store Robin costume on,” Bruce decided, and Tim snorted.  They were backstage, alone and watching the interview from the complementary food table.  Alfred had taken the rest home to watch the interview as it aired. 

“The worst thing is he’s telling the truth, but as a civilian it sounds ridiculous.”

“Do you think I should write Dumbass across his forehead in red or black?” Bruce continued. 

“I have no words unless you’re actually serious,” Tim chuckled. 

Meanwhile, the entire story had spun out of control. 

“And my friends and I, we escaped this weird cult of justice regime, and since I was legally dead and they weren’t exactly looked out for, we went traveling and tried to figure out what happened to me.  I won’t say their names, for their sakes, but, er, S had a thing about kissing people to understand them, and my friend R was an _awesome_ cook with a weird thing for building his own stuff, and seriously, I wouldn’t be here without them.  If you’re watching, guys—Hi!  Anyway, once we’d gathered enough information, and made our way enough, we ended up back in Gotham.”

“A-and what happened when you reunited with Bruce?  Met Tim, and the others?”

“Oh, that went horribly,” Jason said seriously, “I practically tried to kill Tim.  Bruce and I were fighting like mad about some stuff; the family took his side, obviously.  I came back home different, and as far as they were concerned I’d frozen when they’d last seen me just the same.  It’s a long recovery of relationships thing.”

“You tried to hurt your brother?!”

“Well, as far as I was concerned, I’d been replaced. It's mostly all forgiven now; the whole reason I was finally caught in public before we'd been able to make a statement is because we were celebrating my birthday at the Manor. Not that I’m planning on staying with them long-term; I’ve got an apartment set up in Gotham now, though. All birds have to fly from the nest, you know?”  Tim smacked his forehead while the interviewer nodded enthusiastically, taking them to a commercial break.

“No, I think I’ll wrap him up in the tires he stole and roll him down a steep incline,” Bruce said. 

“Please let him stop, for his own sake,” Tim muttered, both of them staring at the deliberate utter train wreck that was Jason Peter Todd. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe I wrote most of Eliza's section onwards before most of the rest of this fic so far? Because I did. That's probably my favorite part of this chapter - Bruce quietly threatening Jason aside to Tim while Jason tells the true (ridiculous version) story of how he came back from the dead.
> 
> I think I like writing in Damian's POV, and I love the idea of forcing an impressionable, newly resurrected Jason to nanny miniature Damian. I went through all the gifts because that's basically what happens at birthday parties, and I felt like they were cool little personal touches. As for the Joker and Gregory, things aren't going to be pretty when they start putting their plan into place. I think I'm also partially sticking with the demon plot because Jason was voiced by Jensen Ackles in my favorite Red Hood animation, and I'm such a huge Supernatural fan so I'm just going to roll with the demon bit as the power for the Joker to do what he wants. 
> 
> Also, the Willy the Sparrow bit? That's from me, actually. I watched it on repeat on VHS. I looked it up again and found a full Russian version, but not a good English one. Ironically, the show is essentially a little boy that shoots at sparrows with a toy gun, and gets turned into a sparrow to learn empathy to not hurt them. The Kurosawa films he picked are Stray Dogs and Throne of Blood, but you can pick whatever Urueta movie you like best because I can't decide and essentially all you need to know is that it's Mexican 1930s-40s horror films.


	6. Babysitting and McFly (Or: An Abundance of Father Figures)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Jason has to babysit, though it's nowhere near as hard as Tim and Kon's attempts, Dick makes an introduction, and there's time travel.
> 
> The Joker has also made a deal, and it isn't going to end pretty.

* * *

**Joker**

The demon called Gregory at least three other names that were not Gregory.  The man was clearly more than he appeared, but it hardly mattered.  

“So what’s the plan?” Not-Just-Gregory asked. 

“Oh, no plan.  I didn’t come with anything in mind but setting everything in motion, then leaving behind a treasure trail for our little Bats to follow.” 

“Hm, you are quite creative.  I’ll leave you to it, I suppose.  Be gentle with him,” Gregory called as he walked away. 

“No promises,” the demon grumbled.  It was an imposing, angry thing—just not quite human.  Not grotesque, really—it looked perfectly normal.  A young man in a business suit.  But his face was just too average, too normal, too symmetrical. 

Like a background character to fill space.  Like someone trying to be generic enough not to be noticed.  Gregory looked over his shoulder and gave a shark-toothed grin—quite literally. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, dear.” 

* * *

 

**Jason**

“I didn’t realize this meant I’d be a babysitter,” he grumbled.  Roy snorted. 

“Look, man.  It’s a best friend thing.  You’re fine.”

“I love Lian, don’t get me wrong, but I’m positive I’m going to get visitors; do you really want to deal with that?”  Roy was still on terrible terms with Queen—Jason didn’t want any non-approved superheroes in the vicinity if Roy didn’t want them. 

“I’m okay with it,” Roy sighed, “Just because Ollie and I are on the rocks doesn’t mean you have to treat the Outlaws and your family like they’re divorced parents passing you along.  I even sort of get along with Dick.  Which reminds me . . . here’s the thing . . . Lian’s best friend is staying, too.  Just for the weekend,” he stressed. 

“That’s fine.  As long as you don’t mind various bats coming over,” Jason said firmly, “Dick and Tim like to drop by at random.”

“That won’t be a problem for those girls,” Roy muttered, “Lian’s friend . . . is Kori’s daughter.”  Jason stiffened. 

“What.”

“Mari’s almost seven.  They didn’t exactly expect it.  Believe me, I was worried enough when I found out.  Lian likes having a friend who’s a little older—she feels cool that way.”  Jason did the math.  That would have been—oh _Jesus_. 

“Mari Grayson?”

“Technically it’s Mar’i,” Roy spelled aloud, a tired smile forming, “But she tends to leave out the apostrophe, and we just pronounce it like that.  Dick knows, don’t worry.  They’ve been trying to keep her out of vigilante stuff, give her a normalish life.  It’s hard to do that when she’s half-alien, but so far, they’re pretty good parents.”

“And she and Lian are best friends?” Jason continued with a frown. 

“Look man, I know it’s weird.  But if Kori wasn’t okay with you taking care of her, I wouldn’t bring her here.”

“And Dick?”

“I’m sure he’ll be perfectly fine with Uncle Jason babysitting,” Roy grinned.  Jason snorted.  _Uncle Jason_.  What the hell.

“He’s going to flip, and not in the acrobat way.”

“I know.  But I won’t be here to see it happen.  Send pics?”

“Ugh, I hate you, but bring me my goddaughter and niece.”

* * *

Mari and Lian were so cute together, honestly. 

Lian was quietly joyful, while Mari was _fierce_.  She demanded attention, and more importantly, she demanded that Lian get attention.  It was probably the cutest thing. 

“Well, hello there miss Lian.  And Mari, it’s very nice to meet you.”  He sank down into a crouch to offer his hand to shake.

“Hey, Uncle Jay,” she said, “Nice to meet you too.  Do you have cartoons?  Lian loves cartoons.” 

“I know; I even got one of my old favorites for my birthday if you want me to play that.  Do you have any favorites, Mari?”

“Ben 10.  The one where he’s _actually_ ten,” she specified with conviction, and Jason stifled a laugh.  Of course, Dick’s kid would love the colorful, quirky aliens and—actually, if Jason remembered correctly, the grandpa was the best part of that show.  Old people in cartoons were fantastic, really.

“And Lian?”

“Tom and Jerry.”  Ah.  Roy _would_ show his daughter that one—all the makeshift weapons, Rube Goldberg machines, and weird situations.  It made sense. 

“Perfect.  We can watch one tonight, one tomorrow morning, and one on Sunday.  How does that sound?”

“Perfect.  Wanna see some tricks Dad taught me?” she asked. 

“Absolutely.  Just don’t break anything, all right?”  Mari grinned. 

“I promise.”

* * *

Dick picked up the phone on the second ring. 

“Got any ‘World’s Best Dad’ mugs lying around yet, Dick?” Jason asked, no preamble.  Dick didn’t respond for a solid minute. 

“Why would I?” he asked slowly. 

“Well, my niece here seems to be the type to give you one.  Or do you get handmade cards instead?  She and Lian are over with me for the weekend.  I’m putting them to bed now.”

“Oh, hell.”  Dick sighed, “I didn’t . . . no, I don’t have a Word’s Best Dad mugs.  I’m too young for that.”

“You sure are.  About eight years ago and no protection?  For shame, Dick, for shame.”

“Kori didn’t think she could have kids,” Dick sighed.  “We weren’t responsible about it, no.  Didn’t even realize it until she was born.  I’m just glad she’s okay, you know?  We realized we weren’t working romantically, but we both love the hell out of her.”

“I can tell.  You could bring her over to the Manor sometime—not the Cave, of course.  She’d adore Cass.”

“. . . you have a point.”

“Of course I do.  So—Mari Grayson.  Lian Harper.  Who’s next to have a kid—?”

“Not only god no, but _hell_ no.  Don’t make me imagine any of the other Titans having kids.”

“I’m just saying, would Garfield’s kids only be a little green, like a Vulcan, or—”

“Shut up, Jason.”

* * *

“Actually, after you babysit her, it’s my turn to take care of her,” Dick admitted sheepishly, “So when Roy picks Lian up, mind coming with me to the Manor to introduce her?”  Jason nodded, and Dick looked relieved. 

“Not at all.  I need to record everyone’s faces.”  What, like he was actually going to be anything but a little shit?

“Dammit.”

* * *

Mari was on Dick’s shoulders.  It was just a few at the Manor—Bruce, Tim, and Harper, who was arguing with Tim about professionalism and colored hair and tattoos. 

“Who’s the kid?” Tim immediately asked. 

“I’m Mari,” she introduced herself proudly, and Dick chuckled. 

“She’s my daughter.”

“Whaaaaat?” Harper Row jumped up from the couch immediately, a huge, shit-eating grin on her face.  “Is _this_ why you lectured me about safe sex?”

Dick was getting redder and redder as every stare landed on him. 

“Momma can’t have Tameranean kids, so she and Dad didn’t expect me,” she said proudly instead, “I’m a surprise.”

“You certainly are,” Tim raised his eyebrows, giving Bruce a side eye.  “Did you two like, go crazy at the same time?  She’s ten, right?”  Which would be Damian’s age, which—wow, they really weren’t that far apart even, that’s weird even for them. 

“I’ll be seven in September,” she preened. 

“Well, Princess, you are so mature,” Jason grinned, “Come meet the rest of the family, huh?”

And she flew off of Dick’s shoulders to meet them.  Bruce’s eyes widened considerably before narrowing at Dick. 

“You made me a grandpa,” he accused, and Mari giggled. 

“Grandpa Bruce!” Jason hadn’t even thought of that—hell yeah, that was hilarious. 

* * *

 

**Joker**

A little trip into the future to gather information wasn’t all bad.  He didn’t exactly prefer hiding—that was all Batsy—but sometimes, to get what you want, you had to do things you didn’t like. 

He’d have to file away that information for later and kidnap Red Robin sometime to complete that little adventure.  Perhaps this time he could improve on it—maybe even take down that annoying second Bat.  

Next trip was, of course, the day of Jason Todd’s funeral.  No one would be looking for him here, and the demon’s power gave him a bit of subtlety, too.  He stole the boy’s remains as well as his major stash of ACE chemicals that he used in the base of so many of his operations. 

He took the body farther back in time, to the moment a Lazarus Pit began to form, and threw the boy—microchip, chemicals, and all—into the pit.  And it had such a _lovely_ reaction.  A few altered memories for the people—Cicero, primarily, to set the stage after dear Lila was murdered—and set the boy loose, dosing him on occasion with more of the concoction of chemicals from the Pit and his own devices. 

It really was poetry, that the Bat made the Joker made the Red Hood made the Bat. 

The demon gave him just enough time to bring the dead “Jerome” back, nearly a zombie, to his grave so that he could climb out himself. 

The Robins were always his favorite to play with. 

* * *

 

**Jason**

A breakout from Belle Reve left him busy for a solid week with the Outlaws—a standoff with the Suicide Squad wasn’t ideal, but it was successful enough. 

“So, Kori, why the secrecy with Mari?  I mean, you obviously told Roy.  Why not me?” Jason asked. 

“It wasn’t about you,” she sighed.  “It was everything.  I almost didn’t let Roy know, either, but he had Lian, so at least he understood on some level, you know?  I—I was overjoyed and terrified all at once.  There was so much at the beginning, but the thing Dick and I agreed on is that we wanted her to be as safe, healthy, and happy as possible.  We’ve been doing an okay job of it so far.  Dick really is great with her,” she smiled wistfully. 

“Yeah, and she talks a lot about you, too.  Harper and Timbo got an earful about how awesome you are,” he grinned. 

Finally, Roy returned to the spaceship with pizza in tow. 

“How are Arty and Biz?” he asked. 

“Trying to work with another member so we can all be in combinations of three whenever.  They haven’t found anyone they both like, though.” 

“Maybe we should call some of the older Titans, see if anyone has loose morals,” suggested Roy with a laugh. 

“Actually, Jaime seemed pretty pissed off about being stuck with Titans East.  I could call him?” Kori asked, “Artemis would love him.”

“Arty would destroy him.  Yes, give her his number.”

* * *

Jason was walking through Gotham.  It was weird, being out on the street, unmasked, in the open.  Of course, that couldn’t last long when a man in a black bat suit dropped from the corner of a building, crowding him into an alley.   Jason put a hand on his gun, but didn’t draw. 

“Welp.  I guess my interview wasn’t too flattering, was it?”

“Interview?  No, who—”  He looked baffled.  “Where am I?”

“Back up in the alley with me, here.  Let’s figure this out, man.” Jason crowded the guy a bit, pushing him into the alley, and he made a startled grunt. 

“Watch it,” he warned. 

“Look, not trying to hurt you, just trying to make the conversation private.  You’re in Gotham; why are you wearing a bat suit?  Trying to get killed?”

“What, no—I’m Batman,” the guy narrowed his eyes, “And this looks nothing like Gotham.”

Jason rolled his eyes. 

“This is Gotham.  I’ve lived here my whole life, bud, and I know Batman.  You’re not him.”

“The last guy to say something like that was the Joker, so watch yourself,” warned the fake-bat. 

“I’ve already died at the clown’s hand,” Jason snarled, “So answer my damn question.  Who are you?”

“I’m Batman, damn it.”

“You sure don’t look or sound like him,” Jason grumbled, “Too young. He’s in his thirties; you’re my age at best.”

The guy blinked. 

“What year is it?”  Oh.  Well, that complicated things.  Jason gave him the year, and the guy cursed. 

“I’m not going to be born for years,” he grumbled, “So it looks like we’re both right.”  He nodded. 

“Well, you’re Batman, but we’ve got a Batman.  Since you haven’t been born, you can probably get away with being in civvies.  Want to swing by my apartment and grab some clothes so we can figure this out?”

“And why the hell should I trust you?”

“I’m letting some rando into my house just because he looks like he might be Batman from the future.  You certainly have the trust issues down,” Jason pointed out. The guy chuckled. 

“The old man drilled it into me. I’ll follow you across the rooftops?”

“Gimme a sec and I’ll join you up there.”  The Bat raised an eyebrow.

“All right then.”  They both climbed their way up and Jason put on his helmet.  The Bat’s eyes bulged. 

“Red Hood?!—you’re Jason Todd, right?  Second Robin?” and that was proof enough—to know the three titles all at once. 

“Yeah, future-Bat.  Let’s get you to the Cave and we can figure this out, huh?”

* * *

A stop by his apartment—they were luckily about the same size—and a quick call to Bruce meant that they were in the cave in minutes. 

“My name’s Terry McGinnis.  I’m going to be born in five years, but I’m twenty-two.  In my time, I’m Batman.”

“You?” Damian asked, outraged.  It was just Damian, Tim, Bruce, and Alfred with him.  Tim was still partially moving out of the manor, and everyone else had something to do or another home to go to. 

“Yes, me.  I was Bruce Wayne’s personal assistant—and then I became Batman.  I also have a few other reasons and stories, but I don’t want to mess up the timeline too badly if anything affects me.”

Damian was furious.  Oops.  The kid had his sights set on being the Bat for so long . . .

“And where am I, in your time?”

“You definitely helped train me,” Terry allowed, “But as of a few hours ago, you’re on a vacation with your wife.  You were Batman for a while, but something happened.”  He shifted awkwardly.  Damian still looked like he wanted to kill Terry, but he was blushing like hell.  The kid having a wife?  Now _that_ was not a wedding Jason was looking forward to. 

“So, what are we dealing with?” Bruce interrupted, noting the tension.  Jason thanked whatever deity was listening that for once, Bruce was aware of people’s emotions.

“Temporal rift, probably magic.  I was going through some security footage and found some weird stuff, so I suited up to check it out.  I ended up here.”

“Temporal only?  Not alternate dimension?” asked Tim briskly, typing away at the main computer console. 

“Depending on how alternate universes work, it very well could be, but I’m inclined to think this is my timeline.  Bruce said a few weeks ago that I’d probably be going to the past sometime soon; I imagine you remembered.”

“Right.  I’ll talk to Zatanna and Constantine, then—why do you think it’s magic, specifically?”

“Because this is not the first time travel I’ve dealt with, and my suit scans for anomalies of things I’ve experienced before.”  Tim whistled. 

“Did I have anything to do with that tech?”

“At least a little, from what I understand.  You weren’t too happy about me taking up the mantle—kinda bitter about Bruce letting anyone do it at all, to be honest, but—” he coughed, “More future stuff.  Right.  Shutting up.”  Tim frowned at the implication, and Jason didn’t like it either—Tim being a bitter old man didn’t exactly sit well with him.  It only really seemed like it would fit Bruce. 

The thing about Robins was that none of them really wanted to become Bruce.

* * *

 

**Terry**

That was fucking close. 

He inwardly berated himself over again—none of them had obviously gone through anything, and while he’d love to spare them pain, he did _not_ want to miss being born, thank you very much.  Marty McFly he was not.  His little brother’s obsession of classic movies aside, he needed to get back to his time—and warn them about what he’d witnessed. 

Alfred was a godsend, and Terry was sad to know he’d never meet the man again aside from this excursion. 

“Young Master Terrence,” he began, “I believe I ought to speak with you privately while our detectives find a way to bring you home.  Come with me?”  Terry nodded. 

“Please, just Terry.”

Alfred led him up the winding passageways to the kitchen. 

“Do you drink tea, by any chance?  Coffee?”

“Tea, please.  Coffee doesn’t tend to work well with me.  I appreciate it.”

“Hm.  I also managed to get you away from the rest of them,” Alfred quirked a brow, “And I know I likely am not alive by the time you’ve come to join the family.  Tell me, do you know you’re the spitting image of Bruce?”  What?

“No, I never—”

“Because, Master Terrence, while they were running tests on chemicals or energy signatures in your blood, I ran an altogether different type of test.  You see, the others might not have noticed, but I did raise Master Bruce.  It’s a striking resemblance.”  Terry tensed.  Alfred likely wouldn’t do anything stupid—Bruce always spoke highly of his butler, when he did speak about him. 

“If this is a DNA thing, I’m going to stop you right there.  Some lady with delusions of grandeur about Batman decided playing God would be fun.  As Bruce gets older, she’ll use ideas from Project Cadmus to figure out cloning, but doesn’t stop there—she gets the kid half-cloned, raised by parents psychologically similar to Bruce’s, and hires an assassin by the time I turn eight.  The assassin doesn’t go through with it.”  Alfred had paled a bit, hand at his heart. 

“I apologize.  It appears Master Bruce’s detective habits have rubbed off on me.  I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No harm,” Terry shrugged, sipping his tea.  “My parents died in a car crash about a year ago; so, in a twisted way, they got their Batman like they wanted.  It’s just that this one grew up with parents and a little brother.  I’m very different from Bruce; I won’t deny it.  And I can see where our similarities are, too.  It’s harder when he’s an old man, but some things . . . it’s just how it is.”

“Does anyone know?”

“Amanda Waller, Barbara Gordon, myself.  That’s it.  Bruce doesn’t even know, and he doesn’t need to.  I don’t need another father.”

“Heavens! No one said you did,” Alfred smiled distantly, “But you might be able to have more family.  I certainly did not replace Master Bruce’s father; he made that quite clear to me in the early days.  I’m sure your Damian would be ecstatic to find he has a younger brother.  What’s your brother’s name, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Matt.”  They continued—light talk, nothing too serious.  His mind wandered in the meantime to why he was here. 

It had been a cleanup of the security files, routine.  He was going out on patrol right after anyway, but the sight on one part of the video haunted him.  _The Joker._  

It was barely a few seconds.  A portal, the suited clown passing through, glancing around.  The monster just couldn’t stay down, could he?  Well, if the time travel was any indication, he hadn’t gone down yet.  He hadn’t gotten _Tim_ yet.  Could Terry really—

No.  Changing timelines bad.  Just being there—saying his own name—was enough to likely fuck him over if he wasn’t careful.  He’d found the position of the portal, running a diagnostic, when he’d been sucked through and spat out on the streets of a Gotham he’d never known. 

“Master Terrence?”  Apparently, his mind had wandered a bit too far. 

“Yes?”

“It truly is a pleasure to know you.”

“. . . thank you.  That means a great deal, coming from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah! I wasn't going to include Terry but damn if I wasn't having Batman Beyond feels today. So here he is. What DC universe am I using? Probably all of them, so whatever works.   
> I feel like I'm being super explicit with the Joker's plans, so if it's too much, please do let me know. Sometimes I just don't know what I'm doing. 
> 
> Leave a comment, leave kudos, whatever floats your boat! I think it'll take some time to come up with the next chapter, but hopefully not too long. I don't think this fic will go on forever, maybe 12-15 chapters? And then I'll leave it alone, maybe do a few oneshots in the same universe. Who knows.


	7. Red Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of in-Terry-gation, a bit of Steph's adventures into babysitting children of superheroes, and the threat we've all been waiting for arrives in Gotham.

* * *

**Dick**

There was something weird about Terry.  Dick wasn’t quite sure, of course—but the whole mess seemed strange.  Zatanna hadn’t come up with any leads, but Constantine had a few ideas on what was going on.  And when Constantine knew, that meant demons. Terry was oddly similar to Bruce, but Dick felt uncomfortable around him because this Batman reminded him a whole lot of—well, himself. 

Except the cowl didn’t seem to knock this guy down.

No one said anything about it—that the darkness that Batman meant, the weight it had—had always been evident.  Bruce created it, shouldered it, and made it seem effortless to people that didn’t know him well. Dick had never wanted to be Batman, but when he was—when Bruce was dead, at least—it had brought him down.  Nearly as much as—

No, he didn’t need that darkness right now. 

So Dick did one of the things that Bruce, no doubt, was going to do as well.  Bruce needed to know things, had to have all the information.  Tim, too.  Dick didn’t usually care beyond the necessary stuff—cases, major life events, personal interactions—but Terry was.  He was the kind of Batman Dick had tried and failed to be. 

He checked the security cameras from the kitchen, where Terry and Alfred talked.  And really, that explained it to some degree.  Terry had become Batman around when Dick had become Nightwing in his own career—and he clearly had a good measure of sense in comparison to the rest of them.  In fact, Dick was reminded of Duke, who was probably one of the most level-headed, normal ones of all of them. 

That wasn’t saying much, really. 

* * *

 

“I know you eavesdropped,” Terry said, just as Dick was taking a drink.  He spit, naturally, in response. 

“How—”

“I’m Batman.” The guy looked so smug saying that, and Dick kinda smirked back, because it was sort of the same, in the good moments.  This was probably the first time he could use that excuse.

“So am I.  Try again.” 

“I quite literally watched you pull up security.  Anyway—It’s all true.  And you’d better be responsible about this, dude.  I don’t like the idea of anyone changing the timeline too much.”

“I get it.  I was just—well.  Frustrated.  Because you’re the kind of Batman I would have wanted to be, but that was a mess in my case.”

“Really?”

“Bruce was on his way back from the Watchtower, so I was filling in.  Tim had been kidnapped by the Joker.”  Terry’s eyes flicked towards him. 

“I know how this story ends; no need to go any further.  But if that already happened . . . why is Tim still Red Robin?  He made it out like he quit straight after,” Terry frowned. 

“I don’t pretend to know what Tim’s thinking,” Dick shrugged.  “Ask him?”

* * *

**Stephanie**

Why was this her life.  Why was she babysitting not one _but two_ flying children. 

“I hate my brothers,” she moaned as she put on _Rise of the Guardians_.  Mari Grayson and Jonathan Kent both were little attention hogs to some degree, so they clashed on a lot of levels.  They were chasing each other around the manor.  _Midair._   Flying Grayson was freaking literal in this case. 

Why was it that Batman had wanted to fire her for so long, but trusted her to take care of not one, but two half aliens?  Taking care of kids always put a bad taste in her mouth. 

“Tag, you’re it!” called Jon. 

“Stupid!” growled Mari. 

“Tch.  You’re not wrong, Grayson,” said a voice. 

“I am not babysitting three children,” Stephanie growled, “Aren’t you supposed to be out with B at the conservation event you liked so much?”

“It was cancelled,” Damian grumbled. 

“Okay! No more tag!” Stephanie called.  “We are going to play a board game or something.  No, you know what?  Apples to apples.  This will be a good game.”  After all, Cards Against Humanity probably wasn’t good for the ten-and-under crowd, but this would end with similar results.  Mari brightened. 

“I love that game!” Meanwhile, both Jon and Damian looked inquisitive—one with a grin and one with a scowl—and Stephanie shrugged, grabbing the box from the closet with all the board games and cards.  She explained the rules, a smirk on her lips. 

“It doesn’t have to be literal, of course.  Play to the judge; they’ll pick whatever no matter the common sense.  If you’re playing someone _with_ common sense, obviously go literal.  It’s interesting to see what cards people lean toward.  We’ll rotate clockwise who gets to be judge.”

It was also a way for Damian to use his competitive nature for a game involving empathy and humor.  She’d make a real boy out of him yet.  She decided to stay out of the game, as an “impartial judge and someone to end the game if it got out of hand”, but really she was just observing them.   Hey, kids were interesting when they weren’t running—or flying—amok. 

They were all surprisingly alike, agreeing with choices for the most part even if it meant losing.  Mari tended to pick Damian’s cards more, however, which won him the game once they’d gotten almost halfway through the green cards.

“Did Dad show you how to do acrobat moves?  He says you work together a lot,” Mari asked once Conner picked Jon up.  Damian blinked. 

“I already know plenty; your father hardly needed to teach me how to do a flip.”

“But did he teach you how to _fly_ ,” she pressed, “How to keep yourself in the air.  How to use height and falling to make a better entrance.  Bad guys get _intimidated_ by Dad, so it’s easier to beat them.”

“No,” Damian shrugged, “He didn’t.  I think it’s a family thing.”

“You’re his family,” she pouted, “I’ll show you.  Come on, the library’s great for this—”

“Don’t break anything!” Steph called, smirking at Damian’s sudden blush.  _Damn.  The kid’s kinda cute when he’s normal._

* * *

**Damian**

Grayson’s daughter—Mari, she was called—was an anomaly.  He could see the light in her eyes like her father’s, but there was more, a fierceness that wasn’t present in . . . in Dick. 

They were both Graysons.  He’d have to start addressing them with different names. 

“Mari,” he began, “I don’t understand.  I can’t make that distance; you can _actually_ fly, how do you expect—”

“You _can_ ,” she said, “Dad says you’re Robin, and Robin flies.  Besides,” she smirked, promising fire and brimstone to anyone that would prove her wrong, “I can catch you.”

* * *

 

Mari’s mother picked her up some hours later, but she’d already taught Damian quite a few tricks (and left him accidentally with a few bruises from corners that were still smarting on his legs and arms.  Mostly, though, she taught well.

He wondered about the flight, the “Flying Graysons.”  Drake had claimed to watch one of their shows.  Grayson indeed always seemed to fly—he wondered, briefly, if that was something genetic or learned.  Whether his family had coaxed him out of a nest like—like a bird.

Grayson was his first brother, almost a father himself, though Damian would _never_ say so aloud.  The man liked to smother him enough s it was. 

* * *

**Tim**

“Look man, I don’t want to fuck up the timeline.  That’s Barry and Wally’s deal.  I want to ignore the fact that this is happening for the most part, including the idea that I’m going to grow apart from everyone.”  Terry raised his brows. 

“You eavesdropped, too?”

“I think almost everyone who’s willing to incur the wrath of Alfred did.  Unfortunately that means more chores and no energy drinks in my case.”

“Aren’t you an adult?”

“And?  Have you met Alfred?”  Terry thought about it—the man Bruce respected so much, the one everyone seemed to latch onto. 

“Point.  I’m just confused.  Don’t you—” he grimaced “—aren’t you angry about it?”

“Duh.  But so’s Jason about his death, and Dick about being replaced, and Damian just in general, and Steph about a whole boatload of things including being fired, and Babs, and—we’re all angry, dude.”

“I know,” and his mouth twisted, “I just figured that all that baggage came later, with old age.  Guess not.”

“I don’t want to imagine myself as an old man,” Tim scowled, nose crinkling.  He didn’t like thinking too far into the future for himself.  That kind of task was daunting.  His phone went off. 

* * *

**Jason**

“What the hell?” he asked.  Jim Gordon’s jaw was tight as he repeated himself. 

“The Joker’s gone.  One moment there, the next—poof.  Gregory too.  No one’s quite sure what happened, except for one of their cell neighbors, who claims that there were demons involved.  Something about time travel, too.  The guy was pretty shaken up.”  Damn.  Actually, no.  _Fuck_. 

“The Joker’s out and about?”  His mouth was dry.  He swallowed. 

“Vanished into thin air.  But I do have a few things that popped up in the Ripper case evidence that might answer things.”

Gordon handed him some files and a baggie with weird jewelry inside. 

“We found these at Gregory’s apartment inside a big smiley burnt into the floor.  Three guesses as to who planted it all.”

“Right.”  Jason took a deep breath.  His throat felt raw.  He was going to need help for this. 

* * *

JT: We’ve got a fucking problem

Tim: What’s going on? 

JT: !!!!!!!!!!!!

JT: It’s the only problem I’m willing to kill. That a hint for you?

Babs: We’re calling a meeting rn.  Everyone at the Cave stat.  I’m calling in everyone that’s in the state that we can work with on this. 

JT: I swear to God

Dick: We’ll get him, Jay.  We’ll get him. 

* * *

“The Joker used a demon to time travel,” Constantine said flatly, examining the artifacts, “And it looks like a death spirit gave him the tools to do so.  The files?”

“Haven’t opened them yet,” Jason shrugged. 

“It’s a list,” frowned Terry, once they’d spread it out on the table, “A—forgive the pun—a timeline.  He’s giving us a map to what he did, when, and how.  The green line is his jumps, the purple is the actual timestream.”

“And the text with it?”

“Different events, coded, but easily traceable,” Terry shrugged, pressing a hand to his temple.  The eyes on his suit glowed for a moment. 

“Here’s the farthest point in the past—Edo period Japan, what?—and here, something about Jerome Valeska’s rise and his death date—Jason’s death, Jason’s resurrection—here, where it begins and ends—and my time.”

“And in what order did he go?” asked Tim.

“He’s here; why does it matter?” Jason growled. 

“Because it might give us a clue to _where_ he is and what he has as weapons.”

“My time first,” Terry said, tracing his finger across the page.  “Probably got tech and intel on his final operations.  Next was Jason’s death—then back to Jerome Valeska’s time, then to the resurrection point, then to Japan, then back here.”

Jason’s blood ran cold. 

“So he’s definitely here now.  Where do you think he’d be?” asked Stephanie. 

“Gordon’s got people looking out all over the city; you know he’d be back here,” Bruce nodded.

“Teams of two, no matter what for patrol,” Dick advised, “No one alone.  At all.  But we’ll find him.”

“How many of us can we mobilize?” asked Bruce.  Dick grimaced. 

“I don’t know.  Steph, who’s in town?”

“Everybody.  I can probably get the Birds of Prey in on this, too.  Maybe even send a message to Harley and Ivy, just in case?”  Tim tensed. 

“You think they’ll listen?”

“I think that Harley will gladly shoot the clown and Ivy will gladly put him to bed.  Her flowerbed.”

“It’s worth trying,” agreed Damian, “The Joker may be daunting, but he has plenty of enemies.”

“Whoever’s my teammate had better be aware that I will blow his brains out,” Jason said.  He was met with silence. 

“I won’t stop you,” Dick said quietly, “I won’t help you do it, but I won’t stop you.”

“I would help you,” Damian said.  “Perhaps, though, we should gather everyone and assign default teams?”

“That’s a good idea,” agreed Terry.  “Stick me with anyone but the old man, and I’m good.”

* * *

 

In the end, they’d managed this: Barbara and Alfred were staying in the Cave to coordinate and hold the fort. 

Black Bat and Batgirl took central downtown.  Batwoman and Terry—who shrugged and called himself Batwing because “my outfit kinda looks like Dick’s, so I’m rolling with it”—rotated around those two, covering the outskirts of the metropolitan areas.  Barbara called in the Birds of Prey to keep an eye on surrounding areas—particularly Bludhaven—just in case the clown wanted to try something new.  After demons and time travel, anything was up for grabs. 

Signal and Bluebird stuck to the Bristol areas, a line of defense for the Manor just in case.  Batman and Red Robin went by Arkham and Blackgate.  That left Nightwing, Robin, and himself to patrol Crime Alley and the docks. 

Jason would have already gone on a rampage if he’d known where to find the damn clown, but the others had some kind of level heads, so he let them have the reins. 

Never mind the tightness in his chest at the very thought that the Joker was alive and kicking with who knows what powers at his fingertips. 

The guy was apparently using subtlety as his new thing, because normally all the signs pointed in neon right to where they needed to be.

“Pft.  I can take him down,” Damian grumbled, “Then we won’t have to deal with him ever again.”

“If it were that simple, I’d do it, kid,” said Terry quietly over the comms.  “But guys like him don’t just die.  They . . . inspire crazy.  They stir it up in others, like an epidemic.  People use guys like him as an excuse to be cruel.  If it isn’t him, it’s going to be someone else.  I speak from experience.”

“You have a Joker?” Dick wondered aloud.

“No, just a gang named after him.  They aren’t exactly pleasant, but nowhere near as sadistic.  Still, it isn’t just them.”  Jason shivered.  The air at the docks always clung to him with a chill.  Of course, the spray-painted clown across the maintenance hatch in front of him might have done it. 

“Got a lead.  Going in,” Jason said. 

“Not without backup, you’re not,” Bruce growled in his ear, “I’m not letting you go up against him alone.  Not a chance.”

“I’m not alone, B.  Besides, we can’t let him escape, either.  At this point, he either dies tonight or goes into your custody.  I can’t guarantee which it will be by the time I see his ugly mug.”

“Do _not_ split up,” Dick warned as they descended into what felt like a dry, abandoned sewer system. 

The three of them swept through the metal halls, ducking under the occasional low-hanging pipe systems. 

* * *

It started with a little snicker.  Some wheezing, airless thing.  A snort broke it off, with hacking chuckles that bounced off the walls.  He wondered briefly if he could choke him in the middle of his fit.  If he could choke himself, even, with the violence of it.  The sounds built in waves, until a shrieking cackle was pounding through his sinuses like too-loud music on a club’s speaker.  It dissolved into spurts of giggles, but it never stopped. 

The man was laughing. 

“No, an opportunity like this is just too good.  You wanna know who Valeska is?”  He dropped to a whisper, “He’s not me.”

“I know that,” Jason growled, “That’s not the point here.”  He had a gun trained on the Joker.  So did Dick, though Jason already knew they had different kinds of bullets ready.  Damian took a stance with his sword. 

“Oh, I’ve got you all in a pickle, Jaybird, so that is precisely the point.  It’s not as poetic as bringing a crowbar over for old time’s sake, though.”

“You’re fucking dead,” Jason said deliberately, “Dead.  And not like me, oh no, you aren’t coming back.  I won’t bury you; I’ll burn you.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, “You’ll burn me to the ground.  Funny thing, Red Hood.  Valeska got burned, too.”

“What does that have anything to do with this?  Why is everyone so focused on Jerome Valeska?!”  The Joker paused. 

“You weren’t the least bit curious as to what happened to the guy?”

“He’s gone, isn’t he?  Has been for a long time.  Who cares?”  Jason highly doubted Ra’s needed to bring back a clown for his next little protégé.  The two would kill each other in a week—and that would have been awesome, actually, because then he wouldn’t have to deal with them. 

“He was a redhead, you know?  Bleached it when he was locked up in Blackgate.”

Fuck.  Jason didn’t like the path this was taking.  He gritted his teeth. 

“And what do you think the time travel was for?  I guess I was the Doc Brown to your McFly, kid.”

By now Dick had been glancing between the two of them, and Damian’s rage had clearly begun to bubble over. 

“Shut up ya sharmouta!” Damian snarled.

“Ah-ah, mustn’t get too cross with Uncle J.  After all—your dear brothers have all suffered at my hands.  And dear Barbara Gordon, too.  You wouldn’t want to be the next big tragedy, little boy.”  Meanwhile, in their ears, there was a soft buzz of everyone cursing and rushing towards their location. 

Barbara was particularly vicious on cursing the Joker out.  Jason would have to give her a trophy or something. 

“Jerome Valeska was, of course, just a name.  An easy one.  You see—little birds—it was Red Hood here.  _He_ was the first Joker.  He inspired _me_. Isn’t that the greatest joke of all?”

You’d think it was an expression, but it never really was. 

Jason saw red. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sorry for the pun in the summary for this chapter.
> 
> Honestly, I find Terry's Batman to be super Nightwing-esque, so that's why Dick is having issues reconciling the whole thing. Steph doesn't like taking care of kids because it reminds her of the one she gave up - especially knowing Mar'i is Dick's kid, of all things. The Super Sons being BFFs gives me life, but so does mini Mar'i having fun with them, too. Give me all the Next Gen heroes being adorable; I will take it. 
> 
> Whoops the Joker's back and he's here to fuck Jason up (no surprise here) SO!
> 
> If there is confusion about the timeline--Joker gathered intel and tech, took Jason's dead body to a Lazarus Pit + Ace Chemicals + his handy dandy microchip thing from Beyond for brainwashing purposes, essentially setting Jason up to be crazy/what we know as Jerome in Gotham (Ignore most details regarding Jerome after s4e12; I was mainly going for the early stuff anyway. Jerome having just about died eventually, the Joker takes Jason back to his time, takes the chip out, and dumps him on Talia to do the rest. 
> 
> Essentially, Jason "inspired" the Joker to become the Joker, and that's clearly going to cause some tension/problems/Jason's going to have some angst to deal with. Especially knowing that he (as Jerome) definitely tried pretty hard to kill Bruce. Why am I forcing trauma on poor Jason, I have no idea. I can't stay away from happy endings, though, so we should be okay by the end.


	8. Encountering Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They face the Joker and the future in the finale to this adventure.

* * *

**Terry**

“We’re on our way,” he said grimly, even while the others sounded outraged.  Bruce hadn’t said a word, just got more aggressive as he swung and ran towards Jason’s location. 

Shit.

It was the worst kind of revelation, the worst placement—everything was going very badly.  Terry didn’t want to think of the repercussions on his timeline.  The clown clearly didn’t particularly care about that outcome. 

Jason Todd, the first Joker?  That wasn’t funny at all.  But the monster—he’d think so. 

“You’d better hurry,” growled Damian, “Because I’m going to help Todd slaughter him if you don’t get here soon.”

Terry blinked.  No killing _was_ a Bat thing, right?  Then why was everyone so ready to kill the clown?  He’d—he couldn’t do it, admittedly, but—well.  That made a bit more sense. 

They were all there because they needed Bruce, respected him.  At least, that’s what Terry had always thought—but most of them hardly needed the old man anymore.  Or were fine on their own.  Maybe that was why—they joined up because they could be killers but didn’t want to be. 

* * *

They entered with the clown tied up in a corner, giggling as usual.  Jason was on the floor, hyperventilating with Dick trying to calm him down.  Damian held a sword pointed at the Joker, a warning to keep him from going anywhere. 

The Joker was already bleeding from the shoulder from a stab wound, and he was hunched over his stomach.  A gunshot?

“Hoo, you got me, Robbie boy,” he grinned widely.  “You’re more fun than Batsy.”

“He had a fucking crowbar in hand,” growled Dick over his shoulder, “And he went for Robin.  Red Hood shot him, Robin stabbed him.  Hood’s—freaking out,” he summarized. 

“You’ve got such _vicious_ kids, Bats.  Looks like they learned more from me than you, hm?”  Bruce didn’t say anything, just stalked towards him.  Terry put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Stop, one second.  I know he’s . . . I know what he is to you.  But let me at him a sec?  We need to make sure he doesn’t use this kind of thing ever again.  Constantine gave me the supplies and directions, remember?”  A few moments of tense silence followed, the kind that made Terry want to tear something in half. 

“That’s probably for the best,” Bruce said stiffly, stalking towards Jason to help Dick with him.  Damian narrowed his eyes at Terry. 

“Stand down, imposter.  I’ll handle the Joker once and for all, since Father couldn’t deign to.  You couldn’t do it.” 

“Neither can you, big brother,” Terry said softly.  Damian tensed. 

“Tch. You’re as sentimental as Grayson.”  Funny, how people seemed to draw that comparison a lot. 

“I was never Robin, unlike the rest of you.  But I still think I might belong somehow.”  The kid just scowled. 

“I viewed the footage from the kitchen.  Do you take me for a fool, _little brother_?”

* * *

 

**Jason**

The room was dim and cold, with flickering fluorescent lights.  His ribs gave him a familiar twinge of pain.  Why was the air so thin?  Why did he feel so heavy?

Rocks weighed down on his chest, compressing, crushing the air out of him, not letting it back in.  There wasn’t enough air to breathe, _you’re going to drown in your own blood before the explosions even go off_ —

“Hood, come on.”  Dick, no, not you too!

“Son, I need you to look at me,” a shadow looming above him.  _The Bat, but he didn’t come he didn’t save him he didn’t kill him he didn’t_

“Look at me,” he repeated.  He was there.  Bruce hadn’t left him behind again, hadn’t let him—oh.  Oh that was—he could breathe, he was—

A god-fucking-damn shitty-ass panic attack.  Well, great.  Just great. 

“Back off,” he grunted hoarsely, “I’m fine.”

Bruce had the audacity to snort.  Still, he backed off, and Jason resisted the urge to lean forward to

“No one believes that.”

“Hey, everyone else is allowed to pretend they aren’t traumatized; why shouldn’t I?”

“Because of all of us you are one of the least fine.  No one is allowed anyway, not even me.  You know that,” he smirked.  Right.  He’d always managed to call B on his bullshit, no matter what. 

“Tch, he’s pathetic when he has no staying power,” shrugged Damian, kicking the Joker down from his sitting position. 

“Easy, Robin,” warned Terry, “Constantine gave me the tool to sever his ties with the demon, remember?  Let me take care of that, first.  Okay?”

Fuckity.  Jason was remembering all too well the stuff of nightmares he’d—God, he’d— _everything he’d done_ —and he’d fucking inspired the clown to do it all.  He was a—

“Don’t you dare,” Tim cut through the spiral, “Not a chance, Hood.  You are not a monster, do you understand me?  You are not.  You did not have a choice, understand?  No more than me when he had me.”  Jason frowned. 

“Do you know?  Probably not.  It was before Damian, at any rate.   The clown and Harley got me for an extended period of time, decided torture and brainwashing was the way to go this time.  Until I was Joker Junior.  That stuff doesn’t go away on its own.  There was loads of therapy and distractions.  I nearly quit everything.”  The distraction, at least, was working—his breathing was starting to settle. 

“Oh, that’s right, baby J, come to Daddy,” giggled the Joker _.  Um, gross_.

“Shut up,” Tim said, rolling his eyes.  He turned back to Jason.  “I’ve compartmentalized a lot of it.  My mind’s weird enough that . . . honestly?  I don’t care about it anymore.  Not the way most people would.  It’s one more drop in our ocean of problems.  You’re not the first one he decided to do this to, and, if Batwing’s conversation with Al is any indication—” Alfred—oh _God_ he’d tried to kill—

“You were coerced,” Tim interrupted.  “It’s not your goddamn fault.  You were a suggestible puppet, no matter how much autonomy you think you had.  I guarantee it’s not as bad as you think it is.  You’re a _hero_ , understand, Hood?” Jason laughed wetly at the little speech. 

“A hero would not be my first choice in words, kid.”

“Always was mine,” Tim shrugged, “I hero-worshiped the _hell_ out of you and Nightwing.  B was an added bonus.  I was mostly annoyed when you tried to shoot me, for all the fanboying I was doing,” he grinned a little. 

Fuck.  Jerome Valeska—Jason Todd—was not a hero.  But Tim thought he was. 

* * *

 

In the end, Terry took him to Arkham with the help of the Birds of Prey (who were, for some reason, all flirting with the new guy.  Terry, unlike his predecessor, got flustered easily with all the attention).  Everyone went to medical—minimal stuff, though—and Jason asked Tim about therapy. 

“How the hell did you get a licensed psychiatrist that’s fine with the superheroing and isn’t going to, you know, call CPS?”

“First of all, I’m an adult.  Second, her license isn’t exactly valid, but ever since she got with Ivy, Harley’s actually settled down a lot.  And she _is_ super qualified.  So I go in as Red Robin.  She gets it, was there for most of it—she’s even sorry for the brainwashing tactics.”

Jason frowned. 

“That seems . . . incredibly unhealthy?” Tim just gave him a deadpan stare. 

“All right, all right, point.  Still, doesn’t she have, like, a conflict of interest in there?”

“She’s fine,” Tim shrugged.  “The Joker’s abuse with her?  You weren’t here for that fallout, either.  Why do you think she was on the Suicide Squad?  It wasn’t his gang, I guarantee you that.”

* * *

**Damian**

“I don’t understand the no-kill rule, even after years under him,” Terry admitted, “And that guy is why I don’t get it.”

“It’s precisely ‘that guy’ that makes the rule necessary.  Father is terrified of becoming that same monster.”  Terry glanced down at him, leaning on the same railing. 

“You know . . . I can see that.  Still, it’s interesting how that applies to all of us.”

“I still don’t understand how _you_ could be Batman when I’m alive and well,” Damian snapped, then paled considerably. 

“Am I—”

“You are perfectly fine,” Terry assured.  “You were part of the Justice League as Batman—even had your own Superman and Wonder Woman—but stepped down from that mantle and took on a different one.  I won’t tell you what, for the sake of screwing up timelines, but . . .” Terry paused.  “You’re different.  All of you are.  Now . . . Tim’s less angry, Jason’s around more, B’s active, you’re _more_ angry—it’s weird.”

“Hmph.  Why bother giving up Batman?  Why give it to _you_?”

“I didn’t exactly get it from you.  The title was . . . laid to rest, so to speak.  No more Batman.  Then I showed up,” Terry grinned ruefully.  “And I kind of forced my way into the job once I’d saved Bruce.  It spiraled; now I’m dealing with time travel and these kinds of awkward conversations.” Including awkward pauses, it seemed. 

“You said I was married in the future,” Damian said.  _Who would I even think of loving?  It’s so many years from now, and yet—_

“Believe it or not, you’re not the only one.  Probably 75-80 percent of this weird family gets weird spouses to come with them.”  Damian could hardly imagine Todd—he snorted—or Drake getting married.  Grayson might be sentimental enough, if he could ever settle down on one person. 

“I know, believe me.”

“So . . . little brother.  Do you have any younger siblings yourself?”  Terry snorted. 

“Matt. He’s a good kid.  Doesn’t know anything about this mess, though.”  Damian winced. 

“You should tell him.”

“Bruce kind of forbade it.”

“And since when have any of us actually listened to Bruce when it mattered to us?” he raised his eyebrows, “Do you think . . . well, am I a brother to you?”  He would have to try, thinking on Grayson’s ease at taking care of him.  His openness.  He’d make sure _this_ younger brother would not die without him caring.  The Heretic would not be repeated. 

* * *

 

**Terry**

What do you tell a kid you hardly know about his future brotherly bonding attempts?

“We’re awkward, but we try,” Terry shrugged.  The kid seemed to relax, finally. 

“So, just like all the rest of us?”  Huh—not wrong. Gross understatement, but not wrong. 

The rest came down to the cave.  Batgirl was ruffling Red Robin’s head, and Hood was grinning wide. 

“I guess so.”

“Constantine figured out how to get you home?” asked Hood—Jason. 

“Yeah.  All of you idiots that eavesdropped—for my sake, don’t change a thing.  I’d like to exist, thanks.”

“Am I the only one that didn’t?” Signal asked.  A few others shook their heads. 

“I would have done it,” Terry admitted.  “I’m not surprised.  Anyway—see you in the future, I guess?” he waved cheekily and muttered some incantation, flicking out of existence. 

* * *

He was back in the cave, Bruce in front of him with arms crossed. 

“Welcome back,” he said with a little smirk.  Terry rolled his eyes and started to change out of his suit. 

“Look, are we going to have a talk?  About changing timelines?  Because I distinctly remember two timelines now.  What did you do?”  Bruce sighed. 

“Nothing.  But you know my kids,” he said wryly, “They’re a bit more . . . optimistic?  Stubborn?  Take your pick.  They went for it.  Here we are.”  Because the jaded Tim Drake was also the one that helped Terry get his job, who worked with them up until he started acting standoffish and strange, _then_ was controlled by the Joker—in which everyone immediately pitched in, but the clown had contingents for them.  Terry still went in alone, still fought, but—

And Damian was his older brother, in a way that he definitely hadn’t been before.  _Dammit, I fucked up._   But nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the changes—events still happened, but . . . easier.  And everyone was more involved. 

Maybe changing things wasn’t so disastrous after all.  He’d been so anxious to not leave a mark and . . . well, that was an interesting thought.

Tim had recently pointed out to him that he didn’t have a Robin, and Damian . . . well, Damian was protective of him having the option.  He remembered the kid, wistful and sullen all at once about a brother he’d never gotten the chance to have.  The adult was always super supportive—even defying the others for his sake, sometimes. 

Not to mention there were family members now that hadn’t been born yet in the past, and even they seemed more . . . stable.  It was safe, for all this job allowed for safety. 

“I’m thinking of bringing Matt in.  He’d make a good Robin.  Thoughts?”  Bruce, dammit, just smiled. 

“It’s about time.”

* * *

 

**Jason**

After that whole mess, Jason was relegated to recovery with no patrols for a few weeks (he didn’t even get hit once, what the hell_, which resulted in him sleeping on his own pull-out couch bed with unintended sleepovers.  It was probably Dick’s fault.  Most things were. 

During one of the last few, he finally gave in to the conversations about the future.  Terry had been a weird reminder that it was a thing that was going to happen one way or another. 

“I’m going back to school,” he started, “And I don’t want any weird shit in the middle of class from you guys.  Understand?  None.”  Because he wanted to actually have a life, now that he was considered living.  Dick, of course, was thrilled. 

“That’s amazing!  Are you getting your GED or forging it?  What are you planning on studying?”  Tim groaned.

“Educational documents _suck_ to forge, don’t make me do it!”  Barbara flicked a fry at him over the table. 

“Me neither, so quit whining.  You weren’t the one that had to do it for Damian.”

“I’ll do the GED first,” Jason chuckled, “Need a refresher.” 

“Why would you _choose_ to return to school?” asked Damian, nose scrunched as he made a face.  “It’s a waste of time.”

“Yeah, for a kid who’s never been without, I’m sure.  I _like_ learning weird shit.  As for what I’ll study—probably English, maybe with a side of linguistics.  Or history.  Something like that.”

Tim made a face, but Alfred looked delighted.  Jason often forgot he was an actor. 

“Where are you thinking of going?” Bruce asked.  Jason rolled his eyes. 

“Gotham U.  Please.  I’m fully aware that I’m not leaving home.  Won’t stop me from taking ‘vacations’ with the Outlaws, though,” he warned.  Unfortunately, calling Gotham home just managed to get Dick to pounce with a ferocious hug. 

“ _Yes_ , Jaybird, this is _awesome!_ ” he said.

“I’m going to just . . . can you let go?”

“Tch, Grayson is an octopus, Todd.  You’re out of luck.”  It seemed that not much of the relatively good stuff had changed. 

“Damn.”

* * *

The next gala they went to was a disaster, but a beautiful one.  It was an anniversary of some kind for Wayne Enterprises, so it wasn’t charity—no one there could really pretend they were there for the good of anyone but themselves.  Bruce had insisted on having at least a few of them with him to divide the nosy snobs up, so that left Jason, Dick, Tim, and Cass to wander around the rotunda of the theater and mingle. 

This was his first major public appearance since the interview. 

Dick was off charming the pants of some politician’s kid (or more than one, as Jason _definitely_ saw a few girls and guys hanging off his arms).

Jason rolled his eyes, leaning on the high table with a gaudy flower arrangement.  Tim was having a heated discussion with some finance bigwigs.  Cass was nowhere to be found—but Jason knew she’d make an appearance wherever she was needed. 

“Glad to see you back, kid,” purred a familiar voice behind him.  He twitched but smiled once he recognized her. 

“Selina.  Good to see you, too.” She was, as usual, one of the best dressed ladies at the party and likely had her whip stored somewhere in all of it—though, to be fair, those stilettos were probably weapon enough. 

“What’re you in for?” he continued.  There weren’t many things to steal at this particular gala, so she was probably just here to harass Bruce. 

“Bruce invited me—who knows what that man is up to?” she said with a twist of a smile. 

“Huh.  No explanation whatsoever?”

“None.” _You sonofabitch.  You’re going to propose, aren’t you? You are_ not _stealthy at all, B._

“What’re you up to lately, huh?  It’s been a while.”  And that was the understatement of the century—Red Hood had never had the opportunity to meet up with Catwoman, and even before he died she’d been out of town for some months.  And, as Jason Todd had only recently been revealed as alive, it wasn’t like he could have met up with her without a major uproar. 

“Just the usual—getting in and out of a whole lot of trouble.  How’re your teams?  I heard you dealt with the Suicide Squad mess a bit ago.”

“Right—Doctor Fate needed some help and all.”

“I know you were Jerome,” she interrupted, and Jason tensed.  “Don’t worry, I’m not mad.  I figured it was the clown’s doing, regardless.  I remember how it went down, kid—if you ever feel like you need to know . . . Bruce and Gordon will hand you files, and the rest are Rogues.  I can tell you about it, no blank spaces.”  He stared, incredulous. Selina had been a kid— _Bruce_ had been a kid, and he’d stapled his arm and nearly killed him with a fucking circus cannon.  And she wanted to _help?_

“Why in hell would you do that?”

“Because we’re survivors, Jason, you and me.  Street urchin, alley cat—we scraped by.  Bruce was a mess from the start, and what happened was terrible, but . . . you’re here and alive now.  The clown did what he did, and there’s no point in placing blame on anyone but him.  He never set you on me, so I have enough distance, too.”  Jason smiled. 

“Maybe another time?  I’ve had enough of horror and gory backstories for a bit.  I’m going to focus on what’s ahead.” 

He pointedly glanced at Bruce, smirking at him knowingly, as the playboy approached. 

“Mind if I steal Selina for a bit, Jay?” he asked.  Jason nodded, rolling his eyes when she wasn’t looking. 

“Go ahead.” _Be careful where you kneel, B, some of the guests are tipsy enough to spill stuff and not alert anyone, and Alfred would look at you with major disappointed eyebrows if you mess up that suit._

Not that he’d warn him out loud—some things were just better left up to chance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it for now! It feels like a fitting stopping point, especially now that I'm on season 4 of Gotham and basically everything about it debunks this fic's point about Jerome - Gotham fans, this only counts up through season 3. I know it might feel a bit rushed? But if I get up the writing stamina there will be more in this universe/a possible series at some point focusing on different Batfam (and maybe others later if I'm up to it) members. I'll be going back and editing this later, but I wanted to finish up the plot entirely before going back and being nitpicky. 
> 
> Major ideas that didn't make it into this fic but will probably in future ones:
> 
> \--Haley's Circus returns to the Gotham area. Dick wonders why the boss won't let him in on the operations for the anniversary performance for the Flying Graysons - little does he know that his brothers and daughter have teamed up to do a performance just for him  
> \--An older Damian has a major crush on Mar'i Grayson. Mar'i Grayson starts going to school with Damian. So does Colin Wilkes and Jon Kent. Shenanigans from everyone involved ensue.   
> \--Halloween Party hosted by the Waynes - with the Justice League in varying non-superhero costumes, irony, and hilarity.  
> \--What do you get when you cross a Teen Titans crew that has no clue about the Batfam's secret identity and Jason dropping in on whatever Robin is currently in charge, completely oblivious to the issue? A fic that I'm probably going to write, but also would really rather just read exactly the way it sounds in my head. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you all for sticking around and reading! I really appreciate it! Comments and kudos sustain my writing - also, I'm probably going to hold off on doing other fics in this universe quite yet, as I want to finish up some WIP's first before writing new stuff (ha like that will ever happen)  
> Thanks again!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! This work won't have a regular update schedule until some of my older WIP's get finished up, but I couldn't help sharing. I adore comments short and long. 
> 
> Or, if you don't feel like commenting here, come talk to me on tumblr: [LyricFrost13](https://lyricfrost13.tumblr.com)


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